Several Occaſions.

Anne Boleyn

King Henry VIII.

By Mrs. Elizabeth Tollet.

Life without Love’s a Load, and Time ſtands ſtill, What we refuſe to him, to Death we give, And then, then only, when we Love we live.
The Second Edition.

Printed for T. Lownds, in Fleet Street.

π1v π2r

The following Poems were written by Mrs. Elizabeth Tollet, Daughter of George Tollet, Eſq; Commiſſioner of the Navy, in the Reigns of King William and Queen Anne. She received a handſome Fortune from her Father, who obſerving her extraordinary Genius, gave her ſo excellent an Education, that beſides great Skill in Muſic, and Drawing, ſhe ſpoke fluently and correctly the Latin, Italian, and French Languages; and well underſtood Hiſtory, Poetry, and the Mathematicks. Theſe Qualifications were dignified by an unfeigned Piety, and the moral Virtues, which ſhe poſſeſſed, and practiſed in an π2v (ii) an eminent Degree. The former Part of her Life was ſpent in the Tower of London; the latter, at Stratford and Weſtham; where ſhe was buried. She died on 1754-02-01the firſt of February 1754, aged 60.



  • Page 5 verſe 10, for that read what.
  • p. 9. for propriis r. patriis.
  • p. 26. v. 3. read peaceful ſeat.
  • p. 29. v. 3 from the bot. r. fair alone.
  • p. 47. laſt v. for word r. world.
  • p. 65. v. 10. from the bot. r. robb’d.
  • p. 75. v. 2. r. choſen Juſt.
  • p. 77. laſt v. inſtead of aſidens tenet, r. aſidet; et tenet, &c.
  • p. 82 v. 6. r. medium.
  • p. 83. v. 7. from the bot. r. celta.
  • p. 84. v. 8. r. Seres.
  • p. 92. v. 7. r. that I for ever.
  • p. 94. v. 7. from the bot. r. abſolv’d.
  • ib. v. laſt r. light.
  • p. 103130. v. 4. from the bot. r. Icarus.
  • ib. v. 4. for precade r. precede.
  • v. 16 for and r. an.
  • p. 131. v. 5. from the bot. r. foreſts.
  • p. 151. v. 6. read,

    Between what has, and what is ſtill to be

  • p. 152. v. 7. r. Inquiries ſuit.
  • ib. v. 11. for ſilence r. ſcience.
  • p. 166. v. 6. r. we both ſurpriz’d.
  • p. 192. v. 6. r. Harveſts.
  • p. 223. v. laſt, r. molten.
  • p. 234. v. 5. for ſink, r. ſing.
  • p. 237. v. 8. for my r. a.
Books A1r

Books printed for John Clarke, under the Royal Exchange, Cornhill.

III. The A1v

Poems on Several Occaſions.

Apolloand Daphne,

From the Firſt Book of Ovid’s Metamorphosis.

Primus amor Phœbi Daphne Peneia—

Thy firſt Belov’d was the Theſſalian Fair,

O Phœbus! Not from Chance thy am’rous Care,

But from Revenge of thy Corrival ſprung.

With thy Succeſs, and thy Reproaches ſtung.

For when the God, who late the ſerpent ſlew,

Saw the young Archer bend the ſtubborn Yew,

A2 Fond A2v 4

Fond Boy! he ſaid, thoſe manly Arms forbear,

Arms which are only fit for me to wear.

Th’unerring Wounds we gave the Monſter ſhow

Our Hand can never err againſt a Foe:

See Python, far-extended on the Plain,

Who by innumerable Wounds lies ſlain;

Then with thy Torch content vain Fires to light,

Forbear thoſe Arrows, nor invade my Right.

Then Venus’ Son: Thy Bow may never err,

But mine ſhall conquer thee, the Conqueror:

As far as Brutes beneath a Pow’r Divine,

So far thy Glory ſhall be leſs than mine.

This ſcarcely ſaid, he ſhakes his painted Wings,

And to Parnaſſus’ ſhady Summit ſprings.

There from his Quiver’s pointed Store ſelects

Two diff’rent Darts, as diff’rent in Effects;

For baniſh’d Love with haſty Speed retires

Before the one, the other Love inſpires:

That Love inſpires is ſharp, and Gold the Head;

The other Reed is tipp’d with blunted Lead.

Daphne with this he wounds; the other Dart

Pierc’d Phœbus’ Breaſt, and rankled in his Heart.

He loves; the Name of Love ſhe, baſhful, hates,

And thee, unwed Diana! imitates:

In ſhady Woods delights her Charms to hide,

Her Hair, neglected, in a Ribbon ty’d,

The Spoils of ſavage Beaſts dependent at her Side.

Her many woe’d; averſe from all ſhe flies,

Impatient of a Lord, and all denies:

Free, thro’ the unfrequented Woods ſhe goes;

What Love or Hymen are, nor cares, nor knows.

2 Her A3r 5

Her Father oft a Son-in-law deſires:

Her Father Grandſons oft of her requires.

The Name of Marriage, which as Guilt ſhe dreads,

Her lovely Face with modeſt Bluſhes ſpreads;

And hanging on his Neck; O! grant, ſhe ſaid,

Dear Father! I may ever be a Maid:

Diana’s Father did to her conſent.

He yields indeed: But, O! that Form was meant,

Thy Virgin Wiſh, fair Votreſs! to prevent.

Apollo loves, that he deſires believes;

And with his Oracles himſelf deceives:

As ſmoaky Stubble does to Aſhes turn,

With Wanderer’s nightly Fires as Thickets burn;

The am’rous God conſumes in ſecret Fires,

And feeds with barren Hopes his vain Deſires.

Looſe on her Neck he ſees her artleſs Hair;

And cries, how this might be improv’d with Care?

Her Hands, her Arms expos’d to View admires,

Her Eyes, which emulate celeſtial Fires:

He ſees her ruby Lips each other touch,

And, envious, thinks their Happineſs too much.

At his Approach ſhe flies, as ſwift as Wind,

The God and his Intreaties left behind.

Stay, Nymph! he cries, nor fear me as a Foe;

The tim’rous Hind ſprings from the Lion ſo:

So from the Eagle flies the trembling Dove;

They from their Fate, miſtaken you from Love.

Ah! thou may’ſt fall; or on the cruel Thorn,

And I the Cauſe! thy tender Limbs be torn:

The Ways are rugged whither you repair;

Ah! moderate thy Speed, attend my Pray’r,

A3 More A3v 6

More ſlow I’ll follow thee. Yet ſtay and know,

That ’tis no Mountain Swain purſues you now;

No rugged Herdſman. Ignorant you fly;

Jove is my Father, I, the World’s great Eye,

I Delphi, Tenedos, and Claros ſway,

My Pow’r the Pataræan Realms obey;

And Future, Paſt, and Preſent I ſurvey.

Harmonious Notes to flowing Verſe I join:

Sure is my Dart, but one more ſure than mine,

Which made thoſe Wounds; for which no Cure I know,

Tho’ I’m the great Phyſician call’d below.

To me, tho’ Medicine it’s Invention owes,

And mine is ev’ry potent Plant that grows,

Alas! no Plant a Lover’s Wound can heal;

And Arts which others aid their Maſter’s fail.

More he had ſaid, but his imperfect Pray’r

And him, ſhe, tim’rous, leaves; the obvious Air

Waves her light Robes, and fans her flowing Hair.

Her Flight does her neglected Charms improve;

Charms that increas’d the God’s impatient Love:

No more he bears his Flatteries to loſe,

But now, by Love’s Advice, her Steps purſues.

The Hare and Greyhound repreſent the Strife,

When he contends for Prey, and ſhe for Life:

He ſeems to ſeize her now, untouch’d ſhe glides,

And following Fate with double Turns avoids.

The God and Maid ſo in the Chace appear;

He borrowes Speed from Hope, and She from Fear:

At length the God prevails, and onward ſprings,

Cloſe at her Back, for Love had lent him Wings;

Allows A4r 7

Allows no reſpite to the fainting Maid,

But, panting, fan’d her Hair that on her Shoulders play’d.

She, ſpent with Toil, her Father’s Help implores,

And anxious looks upon his diſtant Shores:

Aſſiſt, if Deities in Streams reſide,

She pray’d, or thou, O Mother Earth! divide;

Or you, ye Pow’rs! to reſcue me from Shame,

Deſtroy my figure whence the Danger came.

Scarce ſaid, her Limbs with Faintneſs now oppreſt,

The riſing Bark invades her tender Breaſt;

To Leaves her graceful Length of Treſſes grows,

And now her Arms extend to verdant Boughs:

Her Foot, of late ſo ſwift, now downward ſhoots,

For ever motionleſs in lazy Roots.

Nor could this wondr’ous Change deſtructive prove

To Daphne’s Beauty or Apollo’s Love.

Beneath the Bole, ſtill warm with vital Heat,

He felt her Heart with trembling Motion beat:

Then in the Wood embrac’d the latent Maid;

The modeſt Wood from his Embraces fled.

Then Phœbus, ſince my Bride thou can’ſt not be,

Yet, Laurel! thou ſhalt be my favo’rite Tree:

My Hair, my Quiver, and my Harp adorn;

Thou ſhalt by valiant Conquerors be worn,

Who mount the Capitol in ſolemn State,

While joyful Songs upon their Triumphs wait.

Do thou protect, on either Side the Oak,

Auguſtus’ Palace from the Thunder’s Stroak:

A4 And A4v 8

And as my Head is crown’d with flowing Hair,

So ſhall thy Leaves perpetual Verdure wear.

He ends: The grateful Laurel this allows,

And for her Head her leavy Crown ſhe bows,

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 10.

Rectius Vives Licini――

Fondly, my Friend! does proud Ambition ſoar,

And Danger tempt with an unwearied Flight:

Fondly does Fear ſtill keep the humble Shore,

Whom whiſtling Winds and beating Surges fright.

Whoever wiſely keeps the golden Mean,

Nor he to ſmoaky Cottages retires,

Nor he in envied Palaces is ſeen

Too low he ſinks not, nor too high aſpires.

But oh! whatever’s great, whatever’s high,

The loftieſt Turret, and the ſtouteſt Oak,

The Mountain Tops, which ſeem to touch the Sky,

Are moſt obnoxious to the Thunder’s Stroak.

The Mind which Conſtancy for Fate prepares,

Which knows how wav’ring Fortune loves to range;

In adverſe Hopes, and in ſucceſsful Fears:

For ſtormy Seaſons oft to milder change.

Ills A5r 9

Ills cannot ever laſt: Apollo ſo

Oft mixes with the Muſes tuneful Choir;

Returning from the Chace, unbends his Bow,

And with ſwift Fingers ſtrikes the golden Lyre.

In adverſe Chance reſolv’d and bold appear;

And ſo thou beſt may’ſt ſtem the Tide of Fate:

Lower thy Sail when there’s no Danger near,

And proſp’rous Gales upon thy Voyage wait.

Claudian’s Old Man of Verona.

Felix qui propriis ævum tranſegit in arvis.

Happy the Man, whom prudent Wiſhes bound,

Within the ſtreight Incloſure of his Ground.

Who, ancient, leaning on his Staff’s Support,

Reviews the grateful Scene of infant Sport:

Then, with his Manſion’s Age computes his own,

And tells the Circles whirling Years have run.

The buſy World he ſhuns, nor loves to roam;

Nor weary makes a foreign Clime his Home.

Nor he the ſtormy Winds or Waves does fear,

Nor he that dreadful Sound of horrid War:

The noiſy Courts are all to him unknown;

To him, who never ſaw the neighbouring Town.

No Change of Conſuls troubles his Repoſe;

The Spring by Flow’rs, by Fruit he Autumn knows:

A5 The A5v 10

The Sun, whom his paternal Fences bound,

Riſes and ſets within his little Ground.

He does Verona and Benacus’ Lake,

For the Red Sea and diſtant India take.

Yet, firm in Age, a long Deſcent he ſees,

And, chearful, viſits his coæval Trees;

Others rough Seas, and foreign Countries ſee;

How few ſo long, ſo bleſt a Life as he!

Tranſlation of Horace, Lib. I. Ode 23.

Young Chloe flies me, as a Fawn

That ſeeks her Mother o’er the Lawn:

Who trembles as ſhe hears

The Wind that in the Branches plays,

The Lizards ruſtling in the Sprays;

And pants with thrilling Fears.

Not as the crafty Tigreſs prowls,

Not as the hungry Lion growls,

Do I thy Footſteps trace:

Thy tim’rous Soul then undeceive,

’Tis Time thy Mother now to leave:

A Lover gives the Chaſe.

Imitation A6r 11

Imitation of Horace, Lib. IV. Ode 7.

Diffugere Nives――


The Snows are gone: Again the Ground,

Again the Trees with chearful Green are crown’d;

Again their ancient Banks decreaſing Rivers bound.

The Nymphs who haunt the lofty Woods,

Or bath themſelves in murm’ring Floods,

In Dances with the Graces join:

Nor do the naked Graces fear,

To tempt the Rigour of the Air.

All Nature does in this great Truth combine,

Enjoy the preſent Hour, for that alone is thine.


The circling Seaſons of the Year

A fix’d Succeſſion know.

The Winter does to Spring give Way,

Nor long delightful Spring can ſtay;

And fruitful Summer does decay:

Next, bounteous Autumn does his Wealth beſtow,

Laſt, Winter crown’d with Snow,

Returns unwelcome and ſevere.

The waning Moons their leſſen’d Horns reſtore:

But Man once diſappears, and comes no more.

A6 Say A6v 12

Say, could Æneas’ Piety or Pray’rs,

One Moment add to his determin’d Years?

Cou’d Strength preſerve unconquer’d Tullus’ Breath?

Cou’d wealthy Ancus bribe impartial Death?

Who now in dull Obſcurity is laid,

Or mould’ring Aſhes, or a wand’ring Shade.


To-morrow you expect in vain,

And thence wou’d future Pleaſures date:

Who knows, my Friend! if there remain

To-morrow in the Stores of Fate?

What on yourſelf you do beſtow,

You from your greedy Heir will ſave:

This melancholy Truth too ſoon you’ll know,

That not your Wit, nor noble Race,

Nor Piety, nor winning Grace,

Will e’re retrieve you from the Grave.

Nor thee, Hippolytus! Diana’s Care

Cou’d e’re reſtore to breath celeſtial Air:

And Theſeus’ Strength was try’d in vain

To break Perithous’ adamantine Chain.

Imitation A7r 13

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 3.

Æquam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem――


Why thus dejected? can you hope a Cure

In mourning Ills which you endure?

Without Redreſs you grieve:

A melancholy Thought may ſour

The pleaſures of the preſent Hour,

But never can the Paſt retrieve.

Who knows if more remain for Fate to give?

Unerring Death alike on all attends;

Alike our Hopes and Fears deſtroys:

Alike one ſilent Period ends

All our repining Griefs and our inſulting Joys.


Not thy Expence, nor thy Phyſicians Skill

Can guard thee from the Stroak of Fate:

Thou yield’ſt to ſome imaginary Ill

Thy very Fears of Death create.

With the fantaſtick Spleen oppreſs’d,

With Vapour’s wilder Indolence poſſeſs’d,

Thy ſtagnant Blood forgets to roll,

And Fate attacks thee from thy inward Soul,

Vain A7v 14

Vain is Reſiſtance, let’s retreat

To ſome remote, ſome rural Seat;

Where on the Graſs reclin’d we may

Make ev’ry Day an Holy-day:

Where all to our Delights combine,

With Friendſhip, Wit, and chearful Wine.


Where the tall Poplar and aſpiring Pine

Their hoſpitable Branches twine:

Among their Roots a ſilver Current ſtrays,

Which wand’ring here and there, its Courſe delays,

And in Mæanders forms its winding Ways.

Perfumes, and Wine, and Roſes bring!

The ſhort-lived Treaſures of the Spring!

While Wealth can give, or Youth can uſe,

While that can purchaſe, this excuſe,

Let’s live the preſent Now!

’Tis all the fatal Siſters may allow.

Tho’ thou ſhould’ſt purchaſe an immenſe Eſtate,

Tho’ the clear Mirror of the rolling Tide

Reflect thy Villa’s riſing Pride,

And Foreſt ſhading either Side;

Yet muſt thou yield to Fate:

To theſe ſhall thy unthankful Heir ſucceed;

And waſte the heapy Treaſures of the Dead.


Nor ſhall it aid thee then to trace

Thy Anceſtors beyond the Norman Race:

Death, the great Leveller of all Degrees,

Does on Mankind without Diſtinction ſeize.

Un- A8r 15

Undaunted Guards attend in vain

The mighty Tyrant to repel;

Nor does his Cruelty diſdain

The lab’ring Hind and weary Swain,

Who in obſcure Oblivion dwell.

When from the fated Urn the Lot is caſt,

The Doom irrevocable paſt,

Still on the Brink the ſhiv’ring Ghoſts wou’d ſtay:

Imperious Fate brooks no Delay;

The Steerſman calls, away! away!

The Complaint of Damon.

From Virgil.

Paſtorum Muſam――

Sad Damon’s and Alpheſibeus’ Muſe,

At whoſe Complaint the Herds their Food refuſe;

The ſpotted Pards their Song attentive hear,

And flowing Waves their wonted Courſe forbear:

I ſing the mournful Swain, and his ill-fated Care.

The Shades of Night were ſcarce diſpell’d by Day,

The Morning Dew ſtill on the Herbage lay;

Againſt a ſlender Olive Damon lean’d,

And thus of Niſa’s Perjuries complain’d:

Riſe, Lucifer! bring on the roſy Morn;

And hear my laſt Complaints for Niſa’s ſcorn:

Gods! A8v 16

Gods! I invoke you with my lateſt breath,

Tho’ vain my Pray’rs, tho’ unrevenged my Death.

Begin, my Muſe! begin with me to ſute

Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.

Fair Mænalus has Pines and vocal Groves,

Where Eccho ſtill repeats the Shepherds Loves:

There Pan himſelf, to ſooth his love-ſick Mind,

The idle Reeds in gradual Order join’d.


Mopſus weds Niſa: What ſhall Lovers fear

When this unequal Match forbids Deſpair?

Now Gryphons join with Mares; and Time ſhall bring

The Hound and Doe together to the Spring.

Bleſt Mopſus haſte! the nuptial Torch prepare,

And to thy Home conduct the willing Fair.

Thy Nuts among the ſportive Children throw;

Heſper for thee deſcends from Oeta’s Brow,


O worthy Choice! For this with nice Diſdain

Didſt thou refuſe the Love of ev’ry Swain?

For this didſt thou my Pipe and Lamb-kins ſcorn,

My ſhaggy Eye-brows, and my Beard unſhorn?

Think’ſt thou the Gods neglect a Lover’s Pray’r?

Or wretched Mortals plac’d beneath their Care?


Your early Charms in youthful Bloom I found,

You came to gather Apples in our Ground:

And A9r 17

And ſtill your Choice I to the faireſt led,

Humid with pearly Dew, and ſtreak’d with glowing Red.

I then the thirteenth Summer did attain:

Scarce cou’d my Arms the loweſt Branches gain:

Loſt in my fatal Error, ah! how ſoon

I ſaw and periſh’d, lov’d and was undone!


I know thee, Love! I know thy ſavage Race,

Nurs’d in the Lybian Waſtes, or Wilds of Thrace:

No Marks of Tenderneſs in thee we find,

Which might pronounce thee ſprung of human-kind,


The Rage of ſlighted Love thy Hands embru’d,

Inhuman Mother! in thy Infant’s Blood:

Which was more cruel? Cruel Mother thou!

More cruel Love, who taught to ſtrike the Blow;


The Wolf from the purſuing Lamb ſhall haſte;

And ſtubborn Oaks with golden Fruit be grac’d:

The yellow Daffadil on Alders grow;

From humble Brakes tranſparent Amber flow.

Owls vye with Swans; and let the rudeſt Swain

His jarring Notes compare to Orpheus’ Strain:

Commanding Savages, like him, in Woods,

Or, like Arion, Dolphins on the Floods.


Or A9v 18

Or let th’incroaching Sea the Land invade:

Adieu, ye Woods! and flouriſh green your Shade!

A Rock there is, from whoſe impendent Steep,

Deſp’rate I’ll plunge into the foaming Deep:

Unfaithful Maid! this mournful Verſe receive;

The laſt your dying Lover e’er ſhall give.

Forbear, my Muſe! no longer ſhalt thou ſute

Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.

On Mr. Congreve’s Plays and Poems.

Congreve! the juſteſt Glory of our Age!

The whole Menander of the Engliſh Stage!

Thy comic Muſe, in each complete Deſign,

Does manly Senſe and ſprightly Wit combine.

And ſure the Theatre was meant a School,

To laſh the Vicious and expoſe the Fool:

The wilful Fool, whoſe Wit is always ſhown

To hit another’s Fault and miſs his own,

Laughs at himſelf when by thy Skill expreſt:

And always in his Neighbour finds the Jeſt.

A Fame from vulgar Characters to raiſe

Is ev’ry Poet’s Labour, and his Praiſe:

They, fearful, coaſt; while you forſake the Shore,

And undiſcover’d Worlds of Wit explore,

Enrich the Scene with Characters unknown,

There plant your Colonies and fix your Throne.

Let A10r 19

Let Maſkwell’s Treacheries, and Touchwood’s Rage,

Let rugged Ben, and Foreſight’s tim’rous Age,

And Heartwell’s ſullen Paſſion grace the Stage:

Then let Half-Criticks veil their idle Spight,

For he knows beſt to rail who worſt can write.

Let juſter Satire now employ their Pen,

To tax the Vicious on the World’s great Scene;

There the Reformer’s Praiſe the Poet ſhares,

And boldly laſhes whom the Zealot ſpares.

Ye Britiſh Fair! Cou’d your bright Eyes refuſe

A pitying Tear to grace his Tragic Muſe?

Can gen’rous Oſmyn ſigh beneath his Chain,

Or the diſtreſs’d Almeria weep in vain?

A kindly Pity ev’ry Breaſt muſt move,

For injur’d Virtue, or for ſuff’ring Love.

The Nymphs adorn Paſtora’s ſacred Tomb;

And mourn the lov’d Amyntas’ ſhort-liv’d Bloom:

The Learn’d admire the Poet, when he flies

To trace the Theban Swan amid the cloudleſs Skies.

When he tranſlates, ſtill faithful to the Senſe,

He copies, and improves each Excellence.

Or when he teaches how the Rich and Great,

And all but deathleſs Wit muſt yield to Fate:

Or when he ſings the Courſers rapid Speed;

Or Virtue’s loftier Praiſe, and more immortal Deed.

Each various Grace conſpires t’adorn his Song;

As Horace eaſy, and as Pindar ſtrong:

Pindar, who long like Oracles ador’d

In rev’rend Darkneſs, now to Light reſtor’d

Shall ſtamp thy current Wit, and ſeal thy Fame’s Record.

An A10v 20

An Epistle.

’Tis taſteleſs all! I wiſh that I was hurl’d

by ſome kind Tempeſt to a calmer World!

To thoſe bleſt Iſles, in ancient Song renown’d,

Where with eternal Spring the ſmiling Year is crown’d.

Where Nature’s Bounty and the wealthy Soil,

Enrich the Ruſtics, and excuſe their Toil:

Each grateful Fruit the loaded Trees produce;

The generous Wine beſtows a nobler Juice.

No Miſers there amaſs an uſeleſs Store,

Curs’d with the Knowledge of a fatal Ore:

All there are equal, all are there content,

And all are free, for all are innocent.

Such Man was made, and had continued ſtill,

Wou’d he have liv’d in Ignorance of Ill:

But he too ſoon forſook that peaceful Life,

From wicked Knowledge ſprung domeſtick Strife,

The Wife deceives the Man, the Man upbraids the Wife.

Hence endleſs Feuds and hateful Diſcords grow;

And ſtill, like Streams, they widen as they flow.

Teach me, who from this odious World would run,

Where moſt are Wicked, or by ſuch undone,

This Scene of Guilt and Wretchedneſs to ſhun.

Teach A11r 21

Teach you! There’s no Place free, there’s no Retreat

Where Innocence can hope to fix her Seat.

Shou’d you, like Hermits, in a narrow Cell,

Break your ſhort Slumbers by the midnight Bell,

By niggard Meaſure bound your ſcanted Food,

Drink the chill Waters of the icy Flood,

And for your chiefeſt Dainties ſearch the Wood.

Think you that reſtleſs Thoughts you can exclude?

That anxious Care will fly your Solitude?

Methinks you tell me this; and ’tis too true:

For who can fly when following Cares purſue?

Our ſpeedy Diſcontents outſtrip the Mind;

What Fugitive can leave himſelf behind?

But I repeat what you much better know:

What the old Sabine taught ſo long ago.

His chearful Page conſumes the Winter’s Day,

And waſtes the nightly Taper’s paler Ray:

By his inſtructive Lines my Spleen is eas’d,

And I grow wiſer as I grow more pleas’d.

For he alone thoſe Depths of Wit could reach

Which form the Poet to delight and teach.

Ecce A11v 22

Ecce Homo. An Ode.


See! how the ſanguine Streams run down,

And bath his heav’nly Face with Gore:

Thoſe ſacred Streams, whoſe inexhauſted Store

A World of Sin muſt drown.

With Thorns his wounded Temples crown’d,

With dropping Blood are hung around:

Thoſe Drops which our loſt Whiteneſs muſt reſtore.

See how, the regal Purple glows;

Vain Inſult of tyrannic Pride!

See how, with nobler Purple dy’d,

His furrow’d Sides the livid Stripes diſcloſe.

Thoſe livid Stripes, with virtuous Smart,

A Cure for our Diſeaſe impart.

See! in his Hand, whoſe Fate of old

The dying partriarch to his Sons foretold,

for Juda’s Sceptre, for the awful Rod

Of high Command, an uſeleſs Bulruſh nod.


In vain the Romans threat, the Jews deride;

Nor know their King in his diminiſh’d State:

How diſtant from our Hopes, they cry’d,

Is this Deliv’rer, long reſerv’d by Fate?

2 Behold A12r 23

Behold the Man! O! yet behold!

And gaze till Tears have made you blind,

Thoſe Sorrows never to be told,

That ſilent Grief, that Air reſign’d:

How he appeals, with up-caſt Eyes,

To his great Father, and his native Skies.

In ev’ry Feature, ev’ry Line,

The Characters unalter’d ſhine

Of Goodneſs and of Love divine.

’Twas only Love Divine that cou’d ſuſtain

This cruel agonizing Pain:

Th’ eternal Word in human Fleſh array’d,

The Maker thus redeem’d whom he had made:

And for loſt Man th’ ineſtimable Ranſom pay’d.


Wretch! can’ſt thou think on this, and yet not feel

The thorny Wreath, the biting Steel,

Which pierc’d his Hands and Feet, and gor’d his tender Side!

For thee he bled, for thee he dy’d:

All this for ruin’d Man he bore,

And open’d heav’nly Mercy’s boundleſs Store.

Can’ſt thou, by him redeem’d, deny

For him to bleed, for him to dy?

O thou who ſingly can’ſt for all ſuffice!

Our reconciling Prieſt! our ſpotleſs Sacrifice!

Thou, the great Father’s co-eternal Son!

Whoſe ever-during Being with no Time begun.

Pro- A12v 24

Propitious God! thy gracious Aid impart

To crucify this ſinful Heart,

Transfix’d, like thine, with ſympathizing Smart.

Forbid it, Lord! that I untouch’d ſhould be

With Suff’rings from myſelf transferr’d on Thee.


And what, alas! can I beſtow?

My Eyes! bid all your Fountains flow!

Too mean, alas! the watry Show’r!

My Veins! your purple Torrents pour:

Unequal all to what I owe!

No! tho’ in guſhing Tears diſſolve my Brain,

And Life, exhauſed, ebb at every Vein,

Nor cou’d the guſhing Tears prevail,

That Inundation of my Eye!

Nor what my bleeding Veins ſupply,

To waſh away the guilty Dye:

The Ocean there itſelf wou’d fail.

Tho’ mine is all the Guilt and thine the Pain,

Thy ſacred Blood alone can purify the Stain.

To a young Lady.

As Perſians on the gleamy Skies

Gaze, and adore the Sun’s Upriſe;

So we on young Panthea’s Eyes.

A B1r 25

A blooming Beauty’s Morning Ray

Did ne’er preſage a fairer Day:

As bright as June, as freſh as May.

But as parch’d Eaſtern Shepherds run

Beneath refreſhing Shades, to ſhun

the Fervors of the Mid-day Sun:

Our Youth ſhou’d fly the fatal Sight:

Thoſe Eyes, intolerably bright,

Dart ſcorching Fires, and dazzling Light.

To my Brother at St. John’s College in Cambridge.

Blest be the Man, who firſt the Method found

In Abſence to diſcourſe, and paint a Sound!

This Praiſe old Greece to Tyrian Cadmus gives;

And ſtill the Author by th’Invention lives:

Still may he live, and juſtly famous be,

Whoſe Art aſſiſts me to converſe with thee!

All Day I penſive ſit, but not alone;

And have the beſt Companions when I’ve none:

I read great Tully’s Page, and wond’ring find

The heav’nly Doctrine of th’immortal Mind;

An Axiom firſt by Parent Nature taught,

An inborn Truth, which proves itſelf by Thought.

But when the Sun declines the Taſk I change,

And round the Walls and antick Turrets range;

From hence a vary’d Scene delights the Eyes,

See! here Auguſta’s maſſive Temples riſe,

There Meads extend, and Hills ſupport the Skies;

B See! B1v 26

See! there the Ships, an anchor’d Foreſt ride,

And either India’s Wealth enrich the Tide.

Thrice happy you, in Learning’s other Seat!

No noiſy Guards diſturb your bleſt Retreat:

Where, to your Cell retire’d, you know to chooſe

The wiſeſt Author, or the ſweeteſt Muſe.

Let uſeful Toil employ the buſy Light,

And ſteal a reſtleſs Portion from the Night;

With Thirſt of Knowledge wake before the Day,

Prevent the Sun, and chide his tardy Ray:

When chearful Larks their early Anthem ſing,

And op’ning Winds refreſhing Odours bring;

When from the Hills you ſee the Morning riſe,

As freſh as Lanſdown’s Cheeks, and bright as Windham’s Eyes.

But when you leave your Books, as all muſt find

Some Eaſe requir’d t’indulge the lab’ring Mind;

With ſuch Companions mix, ſuch Friendſhips make,

As not to chooſe what you muſt ſoon forſake:

Mark well thy Choice; let Modeſty, and Truth,

And conſtant Induſtry adorn the Youth.

In Books good Subjects for Diſcourſe are found;

Such be thy Talk when friendly Tea goes round:

Mirth more than Wine the drooping Spirits chears,

Revives our Hopes, and diſſipates our Fears;

From Circe’s Cup, immeaſur’d Wine, refrain,

Start backward, and reject th’ untaſted Bane.

Perhaps to neighb’ring Shades you now repair,

To look abroad and taſte the ſcented Air:

Survey B2r 27

Survey the uſeful Labours of the Swain,

The tedded Graſs, and Sheaves of ripen’d Grain;

The loaded Trees with bluſhing Apples grac’d,

Or hardy Pears, which ſcorn the wintry Blaſt,

Or ſee the ſturdy Hinds from Harveſt come,

To waſte the ſetting Suns in rural Mirth at Home.

Now on the Banks of ſilver Cam you ſtray;

While thro’ the twiſted Boughs the Sun-Beams play,

And the clear Stream reflects the trembling Ray.

Think, when you tread the venerable Shade,

Here Cowley ſung, and tuneful Prior play’d.

O! would the Muſe thy youthful Breaſt inſpire

With charming Raptures and Poetick Fire!

Then thou might’ſt ſing, (who better claims thy Lays?)

A tributary Strain to Oxford’s Praiſe:

Thy humble Verſe from him ſhall Fame derive,

And grac’d with Harley’s Name for ever live.

Firſt ſing the Man in conſtant Temper ſound,

Unmov’d when Fortune ſmil’d, undaunted when ſhe frown’d.

A Mind above Rewards, ſerenely great,

And equal to the Province of the State:

Thence let thy Muſe to private Life deſcend,

Nor in the Patriot’s Labours loſe the Friend.

CB2 Written B2v 28

Written in a Book of Novels.

Methinks that reading theſe Romances

Is juſt like dancing Country Dances:

All in the ſame dull Meaſures move,

Adventures brave and conſtant Love;

Each Pair in formal Order tread

The Steps their Predeceſſor led.

To a Gentleman in Love.

Say, in what gentle Sounds, what healing Strain,

The friendly Muſe ſhall ſooth the wounded Swain?

Thy ſelf, the Muſes Servant, beſt may know

To mourn in moving Verſe the latent Woe:

Such Verſe where Fear and humble Paſſion ſpeak,

Where crowding Thoughts in ſoft Confuſion break,

With fal’tring Eloquence the Fair might move,

Tho’ cold as Northern Snows to mutual Love.

Tho’ that perhaps thou haſt in vain eſſay’d:

The Muſe, at beſt, is but a faithleſs Aid;

So Princes by Auxiliars are betray’d.

Lonely thou wander’ſt where the ſounding Stones

Of Balliol’s Walls return thy hollow Groans;

Or B3r 29

Or where Severus’ Work deſcribes the Bound

Of Roman Conqueſts on the Britiſh Ground.

The ruin’d Pile ſtood threatning o’er the Waſte;

Prodigious Monument of Greatneſs paſt!

Hither perhaps the penſive Lover goes,

To ſhun his chearful Friends, and ſpeak his Woes.

How art thou chang’d? Thou! who wert always known,

With modeſt Wit our temp’rate Mirth to crown.

What? Cannot Politicks, and deep Debate

What menaces the Church, or ſhakes the State,

What great Eugenius clouds the waning Moon,

What Spain intends, or they who drink the Rhone,

From thy unquiet Breaſt theſe Cares remove?

This ’tis, unhappy Youth! to be in Love.

Or when thy jocund Friends the Board ſurround,

With rural Stores and native Liquors crown’d,

Such as the Britiſh Swains, induſtrious, dram,

From bluſhing Apples, or the bearded Grain;

The love-ſick Youth diſcovers his Surprize,

By faded Cheeks and unregarding Eyes:

By riſing Sighs which heave his ſtruggling Breaſt,

And wand’ring Speech with ſudden Pauſe ſuppreſt,

All ſmile; and ſome with friendly Anger chide,

Some pity thy Diſtreſs, but moſt deride:

While you ſit by, with careleſs Head reclin’d;

The only Fair employs your abſent Mind.

We by your Doctrines my perhaps improve

For we, alas! are Hereticks in Love:

B3 We B3v 30

We may with Vows of Conſtancy make bold;

But you de Jure love――to have and hold.

Amantem languor & ſilentium Arguit, & latere Petitus imo ſpiritus. Hor. Epod.

To Mrs. Elizabeth Blackler, playing on the Harpſichord.



While our charm’d Eyes with Wonder gaze

On her, whoſe Beauty is her meaneſt Praiſe,

What ſudden Harmony of Sound!

Deſcending Heav’n is all around!

Some unſeen Pow’r! it can be only ſuch,

No mortal Touch

Can with ſuch Rapture ſtrike the Mind:

Such heav’nly Awe with Pleaſure join’d.

See! every Faculty with Tranſport fill’d:

The active Blood forgets its Course,

Flows back, and trembles at its Source;

And ev’ry heaving Pulſe is ſtill’d.

See! ev’ry Senſe in ſweet Oblivion lye;

And Thought admits a Pauſe in Ecſtaſy.

II. B4r 31


See! how the trembling Strings her Hand obey:

’Tis ſhe! ’tis ſhe who deals around

The magick Properties of Sound;

The vary’d Paſſions own her powr’ful Sway.

Corroding Grief! and gloomy Care!

Black Melancholy! wild Deſpair!

Far from this chearful Scene be gone,

Back to your diſmal, hateful Cell;

There fix your arbitrary Throne,

Where Darkneſs and Confuſion dwell.

Before the Pow’r of Harmony

The vanquiſh’d Dæmons wing their Flight,

To ſpacious Realms of genuine Night:

There plunge their ſullen Heads and murm’ring lye.

While new-born Joys around impart

A quicker Pulſe to ev’ry Heart;

And bid the buſy Spirits flow,

Diffuſing Life and Gladneſs as they go:

When ſprightly Meaſures break the Trance,

And Motion now renews her interrupted Dance.


What Praiſe is thine, harmonious Maid?

What Thanks for all thy Wonders ſhall be pay’d?

Yet what the Siſter-Art can give

Diſdain not, Faireſt! to receive:

The Siſter-Art can ſave from Death

The Pow’r of ſkilful Hands and tuneful Breath.

B4 For- B4v 32

Forbear, ambitious Muſe! forbear;

Nor with rude Tranſport interrupt her Strain:

She ſtrikes the vocal Strings again,

And Praiſe itſelf becomes Detraction here.

See! the Muſicians of the Sky

Deſcending fill the ſhining Air;

And ſee! they hover o’er the Fair,

And hang, with ſilent Rapture on her Harmony.

Her Harmony, which well may ſhow

To all above, as well as all below,

That what was Art before is Inſpiration now.

On an unknown generous Perſon.

’Tis Virtue to the higheſt Pitch to raiſe,

At once to merit, and decline the Praiſe:

While conſcious inward Joy and deep Delight

Approve the Doer, and the Deed requite.

Tho’ modeſt Worth its own Deſert may wrong.

Yet ev’n from Silence he demands a Tongue,

Who like diſpenſing Providence beſtows:

The Good confers, concealing the Diſpoſe:

So oft deſcending Pow’rs, in Miſts array’d,

Veil’d the bright Glory with impervious Shade.

Written B5r 33

Written by Lady Jane Grey, when Priſoner in the Tower, with her Pin on her Chamber Wall.

Non aliena putes homini quæ obtingere poſſunt; Sors hodierna mihi, cras erti illa tibi.


Let no Diſtreſs be foreign to your Mind

That may but poſſibly befall Mankind:

My Lot To-day, To-morrow you may find.

The Portrait.

Votiva pateat veluti deſcripta tabellâ Vita―― Hor.Horace

On what wou’d I my Wiſhes fix?

’Tis not upon a Coach and Six:

’Tis not your rich Brocades to wear;

’Tis not on Brilliants in my Ear.

’Tis not to hurry up and down

To Tunbridge, Epſom, Kenſington;

Much leſs to rub my wakeful Eyes

At Baſſet, till the Sun ſhou’d riſe:

Had I a Foe I meant to curſe,

Nay, Rival, I’d not wiſh her worſe.

For once, to tell you what’s the Lot

I like, I’ve told you what ’tis not;

B5 A B5v 34

A lazy Life I firſt wou’d chooſe,

A lazy Life beſt ſuits the Muſe:

A few choice Books of ev’ry Sort;

But none that meddle with the Court,

Small Thoughts for Cloaths; ’tis all a Caſe:

They’ll neither mend nor ſpoil my Face.

Money! Enough to ſerve my Ends:

An Hackney to go ſee my Friends;

That I may laugh if Fops paſs by,

And they not know my Livery.

Friends that in any Dreſs would come;

To whom I’d always be at home:

My Table ſtill ſhou’d cover’d be,

On this Side Books, on that Bohea;

While we ſip on, and ne’er debate

Matters of Scandal, or of State.

For Horace tells us, as you know,

’Tis ſweet to fool it a propos.

Dulce eſt deſipere in loco. Hor.Horace

On a Lady of Quality, ſaying Spenser wrote broad Scotch.

Thee, Spenſer, emulous of Homer’s Fame,

With jealous Pride the rival Nations claim:

Thy Reſidence Ierne’s wintry Iſle,

England thy Birth, and Scotia claims thy Stile.

Bucha- B6r 35

Buchananus ad Neæram.

Illa mihi toties præſenti dura Neæra, Me, quoties abſum, ſemper abeſſe dolet: Non deſiderio noſtri, non mæret amore, Sed ſe non noſtro poſſe dolore frui.


Tho’ preſent I can only move

Relentleſs Hate, or rig’rous Scorn,

The Fair, inſenſible to Love,

Does kindly for my Abſence mourn.

Does Pity come to my Relief?

Is Love triumphant o’er Diſdain?

No! ’tis to her the Cauſe of Grief

That ſhe no more enjoys my Pain.


In Memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Blackler, 17171717.

Mourn, Shepherds! mourn the fair Eliza dead,

And all that’s ſweet and lovely with her fled:

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains their Sighs reſtore,

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

B6 For B6v 36

For her the Heav’ns were fill’d with dire Preſage,

Of battling Winds, and dreadful Thunder’s Rage:

Deſcending Rills increas’d the troubled Floods,

And the Serene grew black with bellying Clouds;

From their riv’n Sides the wavy Lightning broke,

Blaz’d all around, nor ſpar’d the ſacred Oak.

Impetuous Rains and riſing Torrents ſpoil

The delug’d Fields, and mock the Reapers Toil:

The Hinds, with wild Affrights, run trembling home,

Thro’ the redoubled Horrors of the Gloom.

How oft the tim’rous Nymphs with female Cries

Invok’d the Pow’rs? How oft with ſtreaming Eyes?

But what had they for Innocence to fear,

Or think the frowning Heav’ns ſhould menace her?

And now with unvailing Sighs they mourn,

And watch the lov’d Eliza’s ſacred Urn:

Weeping they ſit upon the faded Moſs,

And tell the ſad Preſages of their Loſs.

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! their Sighs reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Unpitying Fate! they cry, cou’d none be found

But her, ſo lovely, ſo belov’d, to wound?

In whom all Sweetneſs at once combin’d,

To grace her Perſon, and adorn her Mind.

Muſt we no more ſurvey her heav’nly Face?

No more with mixt Delight and Wonder gaze?

Muſt we no more the ſetting Suns prolong,

Charm’d with her artful Notes and tuneful Song?

No B7r 37

No more her beautous Form ſhall bleſs our Sight;

Clos’d are thoſe Eyes, and ſleep in endleſs Night:

Thoſe Hands are motionleſs, that Voice is mute;

And ſilence beſt does with our Sorrow ſuit.

Ceaſe then, ye Nymphs! your loud Complaints, and ſhow

The dumb majeſtic Pomp of ſpeechleſs Woe!

Let ſtealing Sighs alone her Fate deplore:

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! our Sighs reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! all around contagious Sorrow ſpreads;

The drooping Flow’rs decline upon their Beds.

See! how the Roſe, with waſting Grief decay’d,

Drops all her tender Leaves, and haſtes to fade;

See! how the Lilies ſhed their Virgin Bloom,

And only live to dreſs Eliza’s Tomb.

Yet thoſe by Winter pinch’d, or charg’d with Rain,

Renew their Beings, and revive again:

Why then muſt Life, frail Nature’s nobleſt Boaſt,

For once expiring be for ever loſt?

For her, the Woods afford a trembling Sound;

For her, ſad Eccho anſwers from the Ground;

For her, the Wind in hollow Accents roars;

For her, the Currents murmur on their Shores.

The Streams, the Banks, the Plains, our Sighs reſtore;

And joint to mourn Eliza now no more.

Sad Philomel, forgetful of her Wrong,

For loſt Eliza tunes her mournful Song:

For B7v 38

For her the Linnet and the ſighing Dove

With ſoft complaining fill the vocal Grove.

For chearful Notes, a plaintive Air they ſing;

And droop the Head, and hang the heavy Wing:

All wild they range amid the lonely Wood;

Thoughtleſs of Love; and careleſs of their Food.

Ye Groves! ye Bow’rs! ye Grots! their Sighs reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! how the Shepherds, ſtruck with deep Deſpair,

Stand ſtupid, and neglect their fleecy Care:

To her no more they now ſhall ſing and play,

But ſigh, and throw their broken Reeds away.

The pining Flocks attend their Maſter’s Moan,

And with ſoft bleating anſwer Groan for Groan:

Penſive they ſtray, and ſcorn the full Repaſt;

Nor thirſty, deign the cryſtal Streams to taſte.

Ye Hills! ye Dales! ye Lawns! the Sight reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Mourn, all ye healing Springs! wheree’er you glide:

Mourn, all ye Nymphs; who o’er theſe Springs preſide;

And ye, delightfull Groves! which us’d to ſhade

The ſilver Fountain, wither now, and fade.

No more the Fair your flow’ry Side ſhall preſs;

No more the Fair ſhall haunt your ſweet Receſs:

No more amid the beauteous Train advance,

And, all excelling, lead the graceful Dance.

No B8r 39

No longer here ſhall Joy and Pleaſure dwell,

But ſtreaming Tears the troubled Currents ſwell:

The Springs, the Meads, the Shades, our Sighs reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Let all the Sons of Muſic join, to ſhow

The mingled Pow’rs of Harmony and Woe:

Such as of old when Thracian Orpheus try’d

The Fates relented, and reſtor’d the Bride.

Begin! your Art may ſpeak your deep Deſpair;

But never, never can redeem the Fair.

Let harſh, diſcordant Strings a Senſe impart

Of ſharpeſt Grief, and thrill the wounded Heart.

In diſtant Sounds the dying Notes prolong;

And with ſad Pauſes interrupt the Song

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! the Sounds reſtore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Ye hateful Tow’rs! where lov’d Eliza fell;

Who all your ſavage Cruelties can tell?

How oft have you conceal’d the horrid Scene

Of Death and Murther, in your guilty Den?

Did we to you, to you entruſt the Fair?

Thus do you guard, and thus reſtore your Care?

Relentleſs you your Charge will ever keep,

Where rival Queens Mrs. B. was buried near Henry VIIIths Wives, and, as is ſsuppoſed near Lady Jane Grey. and beauteous Dudley ſleep.

There reſt alike the Guilty and the Juſt,

While only Virtue triumphs in the Duſt.

This B8v 40

This Crime with late, repentent Grief atone;

Let living Sorrow touch the ſenſeleſs Stone;

Thou, The white Tower. Julian Mole! our hollow Sighs reſtore.

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

The Muſe alone this Privilege can claim,

Among the Stars to fix a deathleſs Name:

She rais’d of old to thoſe divine Abodes

Whom Arts or Virtues equal’d with the Gods.

She can afar deſcry, with piercing Eyes,

Eliza, gliding thro’ the open Skies:

Point out the radiant Stream that gilds her Way;

And lambent Glories which around her play.

And you, to whom your bounteous Stars impart

The Love of ſacred Lays and Phœbus’ Art!

With rev’rend Awe attend; and liſten well

To what the Prieſteſs of the Muſe ſhall tell.

When on that Day, moſt gladſom of the Year,

On which Cæcilia marks the Calendar,

With emulating Skill the Saint you grace,

Let lov’d Eliza hold the ſecond Place:

So ſhall her Fame Life’s haſty Date prolong,

In ſpight of Death’s fell Rage, and Time’s injurious Wrong,

And ever flouriſh, ever live, in never-dying Song.

Mary B9r 41

Mary, Queen of Scots, Farewel to Buxton.

Buxtona, quæ calidis celebrabere nomine lymphis, Forte mihi poſthac non adeunda, vale.

On the foregoing Lines.

Buxton! whoſe healing Spring, ſalubrious Flood,

The royal Mother of the Scottiſh Blood

Deign’d celebrate in Verſe, to be her Theme

Shall make thee rival Aganippe’s Stream.

My own Epitaph.

Falſly this wounded Stone pretends to ſhow

The Inmate of the ſilent Cell below;

’Tis not that Being, rational, combin’d

Of finer Clay, and the celeſtial Mind,

But mould’ring Duſt to its firſt Bed reſign’d.

Thou ſacred, plaſtic Pow’r! whoſe Book contains

Our number’d Fibres, our minuteſt Veins!

Theſe Atoms, in ſucceſſive Changes toſt,

Thro’ ev’ry Element diſpers’d and loſt,

Again from ev’ry Element ſhall come,

When thy dread Summons calls them from the Tomb;

Again the priſtine Structure ſhall complete,

And wait their Doom at thy deciſive Seat.

Then B9v 42

Then grant theſe mortal Optics firmer Ray

May thee, the Source of Light immenſe! ſurvey,

Complete thy choſen Bleſt, and this Deſire

Which holy Hope and ſtedfaſt Faith inſpire,

To join my Voice to thy immortal Choir.

Pastoral. On a rural Amour.

Tell me, O! tell me, why with cold Diſdain

You ſcorn the Paſſion of an artleſs Swain?

Why now with haughty Charms and conſcious Pride,

You frown ſevere, and turn your Head aſide?

Perhaps my Form and Courtſhip rude are thought;

Love is not unſincere becauſe unſought.

Far from you Town, and diſtant from Reſort,

In Woods has been my Buſineſs and my Sport:

Yet Love, if pleaſing Tales may be believ’d

From antient Bards to liſt’ning Youth deriv’d,

Has in the ſhady Foreſt’s dark Retreat

Compos’d his Bow’r, and fix’d his rural Seat.

They ſay the Mother and the Queen of Love

Forſook the ſtarry Skies, and choſe to rove,

And trace a fav’rite Shepherd thro’ the Grove.

And ſome good Gentry in our Town, ’tis ſaid,

Have met their Lovers in the neighb’ring Glade:

Not that I cloſe Intrigues to Light would bring,

But you perhaps have heard of ſuch a Thing:

By B10r 43

By theſe Examples warn’d, fair Maid! remove

That Pride that is the Obſtacle of Love.

This Form, the Object you ſo much deſpiſe,

Our Country Maids beheld with other Eyes:

With envious Care and rival Art they ſtrove

Who firſt ſhould gain, and longeſt keep my Love.

I lov’d, or though I lov’d; what Youth could chooſe?

So fairly proffer’d, how could I refuſe?

But then no Pain, no anxious Care I knew;

That future Triumph was reſerv’d for you.

You may remember, I remember well,

And ſtill my Thoughts on that lov’d Image dwell,

’Twas when the Earth had welcom’d jolly May,

Beneath an Oak upon the Sands I lay,

And with my Hook deceiv’d the finny Prey.

Careleſs I lay, for then my only Care

Was o’re the Lawns to courſe the tim’rous Hare:

Or to diſperſe the miſſive Deaths in Air.

With youthful Pride and vain Delight I knew,

How my ſtrong Arm could bend the ſtubborn Yew;

But when you came, I to my Grief confeſt

A ſurer Markſman that had pierc’d my Breaſt.

You came, and choſe that Oak for your Retreat,

Where I was ſhelter’d from the Noon-tyde Heat:

Your ſhining Hat was with a Ribbon ty’d,

And but adorn’d the Charms it ſeem’d to hide,

With modeſt Gaiety and decent Pride.

You ſate, and on my ſportive Labours ſmil’d:

While I the Fiſh, the Fiſher you beguil’d:

’Twas from that fatal Day the Source aroſe

Of all my Griefs, the Date of all my Woes;

I’l B10v 44

I’ll call it ſo, unleſs you ſhould relent,

And prove it bleſt and happy by th’Event

How oft, at your Approach, my faded Cheek

Betray’d the Paſſion which I durſt not ſpeak?

Aw’d by your Eyes, how oft my Accents hung

And dy’d imperfect on my falt’ring Tongue?

By Day, the woodland Solitudes I ſought,

To hide my Paſſion, and indulge my Thought:

By Night, upon the Ground my Limbs I ſpread,

And on the moſſy roots repos’d my Head.

My alter’d Eyes roll’d wild with gloomy Care;

And Doubt increaſing ended in Deſpair:

My love-ſick Heart no longer cou’d maintain

Its vital Functions, or ſupport its Pain.

’Twas then you came, by kind Compaſſion mov’d,

With Looks which bid me hope to be belov’d.

Why are you chang’d? while I am ſtill the ſame,

While Life ſhall feed the inexauſted Flame:

While your dear Image in my tortur’d Breaſt,

Diſturbs my haunted Dreams and broken Reſt;

I madly from purſuing Love would run,

And bear about the Torments which I ſhun,

So ſtrive the feather’d Tribes in vain to fly

The Fowler’s certain Arm and conſtant Eye:

While on extended Pennons they forſake

The ſhelt’ring Thicket, or the ſedgy Lake,

Dang’rous their Flight, nor leſs unſafe their Stay,

Fate, ſwifter-winged, o’ertakes their mounting Way.

Ari- B11r 45


Set by Mr. Thomas Roseingrave.

Hark, Lucinda! to the wooing,

Murm’ring Turtles am’rous cooing,

Shelly Grotts their Loves rebound:

Streams along the Pebles trilling,

Hearts with trembling Pleaſure filling,

Sweetly anſwer to the Sound.

Twiſted Boughs above combining.

Loving Joy around them twining,

Guard thee with a mingled Shade:

Purple Vi’lets, bluſhing Roſes,

Od’rous Flow’rs in various Poſies,

Dreſs thy Boſom and thy Head.

See! their tender Beings flying!

Quickly fading, quickly dying!

Beauty ne’er was fram’d to laſt:

Let the Lover once adviſe thee,

To improve the Good that flies thee;

Soon, ah! ſoon the Seaſon’s paſt.

Air with hollow Tempeſts ſwelling,

Gathering Clouds a Storm foretelling,

2 Shrowd B11v 46

Shrowd in Night the faireſt Day:

Springing Beauty, gayly blooming,

Sees not lowry Winter’s coming,

To December change her May.

On Lisetta.

Lisetta, full of coquette Airs,

For fluttering Coxcombs lays her Snares:

But, view that gloſſy white and red,

That Birdline is too coarſely ſpread.

On loving once and loving often.

Once loving is a gen’ral Faſhion,

To Nature ’tis a Tribute paid:

But, loving often ſhews that Paſſion

Deſpiſes Reaſon’s feeble Aid.

Againſt Chance and Fate.

’Tis not wild Chance, or arbitrary Fate,

Fond Man! that guides thy fluctuating State:

Poor Reaſon yields in vain her feeble Aid,

Alike by each fantaſtick Scheme betray’d.

Cou’d B12r 47

Cou’d wand’ring Atoms, in their caſual Fall,

Compoſe the Fabric of this wond’rous Ball:

Are Modes of Matter capable of Thought,

With Act reflex, and clear Ideas fraught?

Then well may Chance in endleſs Mazes run,

And rule the Syſtem which it firſt begun.

But ſee! the Earth with uſeful Plenty bleſs’d,

The Plants of vegetable Life poſſeſs’d;

Obſerve by Beaſts, in ev’ry Species, ſhown

A dubious Reaſon which we bluſh to own:

Then thou, whoſe boaſted Power can all controul,

Conſult the native Dictates of thy Soul;

And if thou there diſcern the Maker’s Hand,

Confeſs his care, reſign to his Command,

Others, as vain, to human Acts apply

A fatal Series and Neceſſity:

And think that Choice, which we imagine free,

Was predetermin’d by ſevere Decree.

Why then muſt Man, of Liberty debarr’d.

Or ſuffer Puniſhment, or meet Reward?

Whence ſprings the Difference of Good and Ill,

Our Deed conſtrain’d, and over-rul’d our Will?

Muſt we the Guilt of fancy’d Freedom bear?

Why is our blinded Reaſon forc’d to err?

Does this conſiſt with Rules by Juſtice taught,

That Pow’r ſhou’d puniſh which compell’d the Fault?

Thus vainly in the jangling Schools engage

Fond Epicurus and the Cyprian Zeno. Sage:

’Till Heav’n the interpoſing Curtain draws,

A Word created, and ſuperior Cauſe

2 Now B12v 48

Now ſtand reveal’d; and is his Works is ſhown,

Who long was ſought in vain, a God unknown.

From whence this conſequential Syſtem flows,

The whole ſbſiſting by his ſole Diſpoſe:

That his eternal Wiſdom does diſpenſe

The various Bounties of his Providence.

To thee, O Man! a reas’ning Soul is giv’n,

Form’d to be happy, capable of Heav’n;

Thy Act is free, and unconſtrain’d thy Will,

In Good inſtructed, and forewarn’d of Ill:

And hence that Puniſhment, deſerv’d and due,

To thoſe who know the Good, the Worſt purſue.

Perplex’d and weary’d in the tedious Chace,

Reaſon thus far a Providence may trace:

Here ſhe muſt reſt; nor can her dazzled Sight

Pierce the bright Regions of eternal Light.

How does it mock her Labour to explain

How we from Adam’s Crime derive a Stain?

How can her Force a proper Victim ſhow

Our Guilt to expiate, and avert our Woe?

How in one Perſon, tho’ not mix’d, are join’d

The human Nature and eternal Mind?

How he who was e’re Time in Time had Birth,

Uncircumſcrib’d by Heav’n inhabits Earth?

Whoſe ſacred Blood, by impious Fury ſpilt,

Man’s greateſt Crime, atones Man’s greateſt Guilt.

Canſt thou, who haſt with Subtilty defin’d

The cloſeſt Operations of the Mind,

Canſt thou, I ſay, with like Diſcernment trace

Th’effective Influence of celeſtial Grace?

Can’ſt thou diſtinguiſh, with acuteſt Skill,

How the bleſs’d Spirit leads thy proper Will?

Then, C1r 49

Then, feeble Reaſon! thy Purſuit muſt ceaſe:

Implore the God of Knowledge, Truth and Peace,

To teach that Rebel Folly we call Wit,

That ’tis her nobleſt Conqueſt to ſubmit.

Vain Man, whom Pride and Obſtinacy ſway,

Perſiſts diſputing when he ſhould obey;

To Terms of Honour giv’n he ſcorns to yield;

And ſtrives, tho’ vanquiſh’d, to maintain the Field.

Here end thy Search; and fix thy laſting Truſt

On the moſt wiſe, moſt pow’rful, and moſt juſt.

In Memory of the Counteſs of Winchelſea.

EfDefugiunt avidos carmina ſola rogos. Ovid.

Sad Cypreſs and the Muſes Tree

Shall ſhade Ardelia’s ſacred Urn:

Theſe with her Fame and Fate agree,

And ever live, and ever mourn.

While ev’ry Muſe with vocal Breath

In moving Strains recites her Praiſe:

And there aſſumes the Cypreſs Wreath,

And on her Tomb reſigns the Bays.

What Pow’r ſhall aid the Virgin Choir

To make her Worth and Virtue known?

Who ſhall the Sculptor’s Art inſpire

To write them on the laſting Stone?

C The C1v 50

The honour’d Streams of antient Blood,

And Titles, are by Fortune giv’n:

But to be virtuous, wiſe, and good,

Derives a kindred Claim from Heav’n.

Virtue, and Wit in Courts admir’d,

The ſhining Pattern ſhall diffuſe:

Nor, tho’ to private Life retir’d,

Are loſt, but flouriſh with her Muſe.

Of thoſe the Siſter Nine ſhall ſing,

Yet with their Voice their Verſe ſhall paſs:

And Time ſhall ſure Deſtruction bring

To wounded Stone, or molten Braſs.

Tho’ Titles grace the ſtately Tomb,

Vain Monument of mortal Pride!

The Ruins of the mould’ring Dome

Its undiſtinguiſh’d Heap ſhall hide.

Wit, which outlaſts the firmeſt Stone,

Shall, Phœnix-like, its life prolong;

No Verſe can ſpeak her but her own,

The Spleen muſt be her fun’ral Song.

To C2r 51

To a Lady lending me Heliodorus juſt before her Marriage.

See! Love, by ſcornful Nymphs eſteem’d a Fault,

Here by a venerable Prelate taught:

The good old Man, with rigid Zeal at Strife,

Devoutly preaches up a marry’d Life.

At this th’aſſembled Synod loud exclaims,

And dooms the am’rous Fiction to the Flames:

But he, ſuch wond’rous Prevalence obtains

The fondling Offſpring of an Author’s Brains!

With mild Compoſure, and ſerene of Mind,

To ſave his Book, his Biſhoprick reſign’d.

He thought, perhaps, his Sermons might not bear

The nice Attention of a Lady’s Ear,

Theſe Lectures he preſum’d, might ſtand the Teſt,

Which all the World applies to Practice beſt.

Paraphraſe on Agur’s Wiſh.

Give me neither Poverty nor Riches.

OThou whoſe Dictates rule this penſile Ball!

Who didſt Privation into Being call!

With bounteous Grace thy Servant’s Pray’r allow;

Attend, propitious, to my humble Vow:

C2 Some C2v 52

Some Comfort give, that in the bounded Space

Of human Life may chear it’s fleeting Race.

Permit, great God! my happy Mean to lye

Far from indecent Want and Penury:

Reſtrain my open Hands and ready Tongue,

From impious Murmurs and injurious Wrong,

Keep me remote from Riches, and their Train

Of empty Pleaſures, inſolent and vain:

Leſt my full Soul, amid her flowing Store,

Forget at once her Maker and the Poor.

Or leſt the Fire of Youth, when I rejoice

In Wealth and Grandeur, ſilence Virtue’s Voice;

Impoſe on Reaſon by a poor Pretence,

Make Vice for Wit, and Atheiſm paſs for Senſe.

Unthinking whence that Wit and Reaſon flow’d,

Can Man reflect, and then forget his God?

As thy wiſe Bounty has diſpos’d my Fate,

Above the Vulgar, and below the Great,

To future Years proportion’d Bleſſings grant,

Remov’d alike from Luxury and Want:

That peaceful Wiſhes, and Deſires ſuppreſs’d

By thy eternal Laws, may rule my Breaſt.

So ſhall the Series of my future Days

Attend thy Service, and proclaims thy Praiſe.


From C3r 53

From Boethius.

Qui ſe volet eſſe potentem, Animos domet ille feroces, &c.

The Man who does to Height of Pow’r aſpire

Muſt curb ungovern’d Rage and wild Deſire.

Nor yield his Neck, by ſhameful Paſſion broke,

In tame Submiſſion to her ſervile Yoke.

Tho’ tawny Indians dread thy Canvaſs furl’d,

Where glowing Ocean bounds their Eaſtern World;

Tho’ thy Command to Thule’s utmoſt Coaſt.

Extend, and Regions of eternal Froſt,

Yet what ſhall all avail thee, while within

Oppreſs’d with gloomy Cares and black Chagrin!

’Tis vain, alas! thro’ foreign Climes to roam

In Search of Empire, when ’tis loſt at home.

Paraphraſe on the Nicene Creed.

In thee, great God! my Soul ſecurely reſts;

This Faith my Heart receives, my Mouth atteſts.

In thee! bleſs’d Father! the ſuperior Cauſe

Whence ev’n Exiſtence its Exiſtence draws;

C3 Of C3v 54

Of all that in the Sphere of Matter rolls,

Of Minds celeſtial, and unbody’d Souls.

In thee! by Nature Two, in Perſon One,

Anointed Saviour! his coæval Son:

Unmade, begot from that eternal Source;

E’re Time or Matter roll’d their deſtin’d Courſe;

As Light by Light diffus’d expands its Flame,

The Ray diſtinct, the ſubſtance ſtill the ſame.

Unmade, begot, the Verity that flow’d

From Verity primæval, God of God!

One in his great Exiſtence, at whoſe Call

Emerg’d the ſtarry Heav’ns and earthly Ball.

For us did’ſt Thou deſcend, and deign below

To ſuffer, and relieve thy Creature’s Woe.

Thou! whom, o’er-ſhaded by th’ Almighty Pow’r

Of the bleſs’d Spirit, thy Virgin Mother bore

Inviolate: Our earthly Mold was thine;

The human Nature veiling the Divine.

Thou, doom’d by Pilate to a ſervile Death,

Didſt on the Croſs reſign thy weary Breath:

The peaceful Tomb, that univerſal Reſt

Of Nature’s Toil, receiv’d its ſacred Gueſt;

Till the third deſtin’d Morning, which of old

In holy Song prophetic Seers foretold.

With her from ſilent Shades didſt Thou ariſe:

Again didſt Thou aſcend thy native Skies;

The great Aſſeſſor of thy Father’s Throne,

Upon his nobler Hand, propitious Son!

Thou with refulgent Majeſty ſhall come,

When trembling Mortals wait their final Doom:

All C4r 55

All who in Life ſhall meet the dreadful Hour:

All whom the vanquiſh’d Realms of Death reſtore

To thy Award. Thenceforth ſhalt Thou retain

The Sceptre of thy ever-during Reign.

In Thee! the Third of that eternal Trine:

The vital Spirit! Paraclete divine!

Who from the mighty Father and the Son

Proceed’ſt; with Both ador’d in Glory One.

By Thee inſpir’d the antient Prophets taught

Diviner Truths, tranſcending human Thought.

One Church I own, by Chriſt’s firſt Legates built:

One ſacred Font to purify from Guilt:

That Time I wait when Death ſhall Life reſtore;

That Life when Time and Death ſhall be no more.

On Mr. Pope’s Homer.

The Samian Sage, whoſe venerable Breaſt

Euphorbus’ tranſmigrating Soul poſſeſt,

Cou’d he revive again, wou’d joy to ſee

That Homer’s Spirit is transfus’d to thee.

C4 Par C4v 56

Par Nobile Fratrum.

Two Youngſters, with the ſame Preciſeneſs taught,

When rip’ning Time to due Perfection brought,

Obſerve how well their Principles agree;

An Atheiſt This, and an Enthuſiaſt He.

The Triumvirate of Poets.

Britain with Greece and Rome contended long

For lofty Genius and poetic Song:

Till this Auguſtan Age with Three was bleſt,

To fix the Prize, and finiſh the Conteſt.

In Addiſon immortal Virgil reigns;

So pure his Numbers, ſo refin’d his Strains:

Of Nature full, with more impetuous Heat,

In Prior Horace ſhines, ſublimely great.

Thy Country, Homer! we diſpute no more,

For Pope has fix’d it to his native Shore.

The C5r 57

The Praiſe of Aſtronomy, from the firſt Book of Ovid’s Faſti.

Felices animosae quibus hæc cognoſcere primis.—

Ohappy Souls who firſt aſpir’d to climb,

With glorious Cares, the heav’nly Seats ſublime!

Who rais’d aloft the Head, to leave behind

The Crimes and Pleaſures that debaſe Mankind.

Nor cou’d the Cyprian Dame, or flowing Bowls,

Enerve their gen’rous Breaſts, or dull their Souls:

Nor the laborious Duties of the Bar;

Nor more heroic Dangers of the War.

Nor them the Fumes of light Ambition warm’d,

Nor Glory them with painted Beauties charm’d;

Nor them ſollicited the mean Deſire,

That ſhining Droſs and Golden Duſt inſpire:

But to our Eyes the diſtant Stars they brought;

And boundleſs Æther circumſcrib’d in Thought.

’Tis not by Oſſa on Olympus thrown,

Tho’ to the Stars aſpires the topmoſt Cone

Of Pelion, pil’d on both, the Skies we gain:

’Tis thus that Science can the Heav’ns obtain.

C5 On C5v 58

On a Death’s Head.

Eſt illie Leibæus Amor, qui pectora ſanat, Inque ſuas gelidam lampadas addit aquam. Ovid.

On this Reſemblance, where we find

A Portrait drawn for all Mankind,

Fond lover gazes a while, to ſee

What Beauty’s Idol Charms half be,

Where are the Balls that once cou’d dart

Quick Lightning thro’ the wounded Heart?

The Skin, whoſse Teint cou’d once unite

The glowing Red and poliſh’d White?

The Lip in brighter Ruby dreſt?

The Cheek with dimpled Smiles impreſt?

The riſing Front, where Beauty ſate

Thron’d in her Reſidence of State;

Which, half-diſclos’d and half-conceal’d,

The Hair in flowing Ringlets veil’d;

’Tis vaniſh’d all! remains alone

This eyeleſs Scalp of naked Bone:

The vacant Orbits ſunk within:

The Jaw that offers at a Grin.

Is this the Object then that claims

The Tribute of our youthful Flames?

Muſt am’rous Hopes and fancy’d Bliſs,

Too dear Deluſions! end in this?

2 How C6r 59

How high does Melancholy ſwell!

Which Sighs can more than Language tell:

Till Love can only grieve or fear;

Reflect a while, then drop a Tear

For all that’s beautiful or dear.

From Owen’s Epigrams.

Were now the Strife renew’d, ſo fam’d of Old,

When Beauty’s Queen Obtain’d the Orb of Gold,

In vain might Venus, or the warlike Maid,

Or practiſe Airs, or Eloquence to plead;

A modern Youth would judge with other Eyes,

And money’d Juno gain the ſplendid Prize.

On a Poem of the Right Honourable Lady M.W.M. in Mr. Hammond’s Miſcellany.

Where Storms the Sea, and Wars infeſt the Shore,

Where the bleak Euxine and Propontis roar,

The Britiſh Muſe extends thy ſpreading Praiſe;

And there for Pierpoint plants immortal Bays.

That Orpheus once cou’d draw the ſavage Throng

And moving Foreſts to attend his Song,

C6 That C6v 60

That Helen’s Eyes contending Kings cou’d fire,

That Phaons Miſtreſs tun’d the Doric Lyre,

No more are Fables held: Since Thrace could ſee

The diff’rent Wonders all reviv’d in thee.

From Virgil.

O Felix una ante alias Priameia virgo,

Hoſtilem ad tumulum, Trojæ ſub mœnibus altis,

Juffa mori, quæ mon fortitus pertulit ullos,

Nec victoris beri tetigit captiva cubile!

O happy ſhe alone of Priam’s Race!

Who, free from ſervile Bonds and dire Diſgrace,

Beneath the Walls of ruin’d Ilium bled,

A Victim to th’inexorable Dead:

Exempt from hateful Lots, nor doom’d to know

The lordly Bed of a victorious Foe.

The foregoing Lines applied.

How hard a Fate enthrals the wretched Maid

By Tyrant Kindred bater’d and betray’d!

Whoſe Beauty, Youth, and Innocence are ſold,

For ſhining Equipage, or Heaps of Gold:

Condemn’d to drag an odious Chain for Life;

A living Victim and a captive Wife!

More happy She, and leſs ſevere her Doom,

Who falls in all the Pride of early Bloom,

And Virgin Honours dreſs her peaceful Tomb!

2 Occa- C7r 61

Occaſioned by a Paſſage in Tullyde Senectute, relating to the Immortality of the Soul. Si in hoc erro libenter erro, &c.

When the foreboding Soul, with firm Preſage,

Contemns the narrow Bounds of human Age,

O’erleaps the Bars which Fate and Nature place,

To fix the Limits of a ſcanted Space,

And, upward on extended Wings ſublime

Shoots thro’ the vaſt Abyſs of future Time,

Secure that Heav’n in virtuous Toil beſtows

A bliſsful State, interminate Repoſe.

If ’tis an Error, if the fleeting Breath

Reſolves to Air, and diſſipates in Death:

If ſubtile Matter and the vital Fire,

Corporeal Parts, to Elements retire;

While no reflective Pow’r, ſurvives to ſshow

That Virtue meets Reward, and Vice produces Woe.

Willful I err; and with Delight I find

The kind Deluſion fortify my Mind.

For, if deceiv’d of her expected Skies,

The Soul with her material Partner dies,

Reduc’d to Nothing, No where doom’d to go,

If waſte, unpeopled Realms extend below;

Philoſophizing Ghoſts ſhall ne’er upbraid

The pleaſing Error to my wand’ring Shade,

From ſome new Syſtem of the human Frame:

From ſcatter’d Atoms, or extinguiſhed Flame.

But C7v 62

But if wiſe Nature’s Dictates can prevail,

And weighty Reaſon turn the doubtful Scale,

The ſure Decrees of heav’nly Juſtice wait

A permanent Award, and future State.

The Deſtruction of Babylon

From Iſaiah, Chap. XIII.

Where the tall Rock exalts his ſleepy Head,

In ſign of diſmal Rout the Banner ſpread:

With ſhrill reſounding Cries, and waſted Hand,

Proclaim Deſtruction to the guilty Land;

Th’ aſſembled Elders ſummon to the Gate,

In vain conſult to prop the ſinking State,

Lo! I have charg’d the deſtin’d Train to come,

Select, and arm’d by my eternal Doom:

To whom my dread Revenge directs my Choice,

The martial Chiefs, who in my Pow’r rejoice.

Hark! how the diſtant Hills their Shouts rebound!

The Voice of Nations ecchoes in the Sound:

Of congregated Nations from afar;

The Lord of Hoſts himſelf has rang’d the War.

Ev’n from remote Regions of the Skies,

The ruddy Confines of the Sun’s Upriſe,

Behold! with rapid march they pour amain;

The Lord himſelf conducts the vengeful Train:

He heav’nly Temper to their Arms ſupplies,

Till the devoted Land a Deſert lies.

With C8r 63

With Shrieks of Horror pierce the wounded Air!

Exalt the Voice in Accents of Deſpair!

The Dawn appears, the fated Morn aſcends:

And ſweeping Ruin from above impends.

The nervous Vigour ſhall deſert the Arm:

Unmanly Fears the beating Heart alarm.

Incertain Terrors, ever-anxious Woe,

Keen as the Pains which teeming Mothers know,

Shall ev’ry Breaſt diſtract. With wild Amaze

And ſtupid Grief ſhall each on other gaze;

As when thro’ Dead of Night projects the ſtreaming Blaze.

The Day appears, the Day with Vengeance great,

Sacred to Wrath divine, and charg’d with Fate.

The Day when Deſolation ſhall demand

The guilty People and the guilty Land.

The Stars ſhall fade, and all yon figur’d Schemes

Of fancy’d Monſter-Gods recal their Beams:

Involving Night ſhall ſhroud the Lamp of Day,

When forth the iſſues thro’ th’ethereal Way,

The Silver Moon ſhall veil her borrow’d Ray.

Dreadful I riſe, that pale Mankind may know

Supernal Wrath, and Guilt the Source of Woe.

Then Pride ſhall fail; and Retribution juſt

Extend the haughty Tyrant in the Duſt.

The ſcatter’d Few, what yet remain behind

Sav’d from the general Waſte of human Kind,

Shall be more rare, more precious than the Store

Of Golden Talents; or the purer Ore

Of tawny Æthiops, on the fartheſt Shore.

The C8v 64

The Heav’ns ſhall tremble thro’ their liquid Space:

The ſolid Earth ſtart frighted from her Baſe,

Roll’d thro’ the Void, when he, whoſe Edicts ſway

The heav’nly Hoſt, ſhall wake the dreadful Day.

As from the Dogs the Roe, with active Bound,

Springs thro’ the Thicket, and evades the Wound;

As fares the lamb, whom the forgetful Swain

Shuts from the Fold to wander o’er the Plain;

So flies the Fugitive, devoted Race;

Each ſeeks his rural Home, and peaceful native Place,

In vain! the Arrow ſpeeds on ſwifter Wings:

The deathful Sword a ſure Deſtruction brings.

Their Eyes ſhall ſee their tender Infants thrown,

Their Limbs all batter’d on the pointed Stone:

Their lofty Palaces the Victor’s Prey;

Their captive Wives diſgraceful Force obey.

A Race inur’d to military Toil,

The hardy Medians, negligent of Spoil:

Chiefs who behold with undeſiring Eyes

The treaſur’d Silver and the golden Prize.

Their forceful Bow the warlike Youth confounds,

With rapid Deaths and undiſtinguiſhed Wounds:

Nor ſmiling Babes eſcape their ſavage Rage;

Nor knows their Eye to pity infant Age.

Thus, Babylon! thy wide-extended Pow’rs,

Thy peerleſs Majeſty, thy princely Tow’rs,

Unrival’d Empreſs of the Eaſtern World!

Shall ſink in Ruines: As when once were hurl’d,

The blaſting Lightnings and ſulpherous Rain,

To wrap the Cities, and o’erwhelm the Plain.

While rolling Time, the mortal Race ſupplies,

While various Monarchies decline and riſe,

Unha- C9r 65

Unhabited and waſte, on Heaps ſhall lye

Thy haughty Spires which penetrate the Sky.

No Arab there ſhall fix the tented Shade;

Nor o’er the ruin’d Pile his Curtains ſpread:

No Shepherd there his lonely Watch ſhall keep;

Nor in the deſert Palace fold his Sheep.

The ſavage Kind alone ſhall revel there;

Portents of Earth and Prodigies of Air;

The Bird of Night ſhall clasp her grizzly Wings,

And ſhaggy Satyrs dance in antic Rings.

In poliſh’d Domes amphibious Monſters yell,

That in the Sea-encircled Iſlands dwell:

O’er marble Courts ſhall ſcaly Dragons roll

Their ſpiry Volumes; and, portentous, howl.

Thus undelay’d on thy accurs’d Abode

Impend the Terrors of a vengeful God.


Deny’d that Fame, and rob’d of that Repoſe

Which Learning merits, Innocence beſtows,

From that poetic Shade, th’Elyſian Field,

That Shade at leaſt to Heathen Virtue yield,

Hypatia comes: The dire, revolving Date

Of circling Years renews my cruel Fate.

Did I for this to Plato’s Chair ſucceed,

In Youth by envious Ignorance to bleed?

When neither Virtue, nor the ſofter Charm

Of female Grace, the Vulgar cou’d diſarm,

(To C9v 66

(To Fury heighten’d by miſguided Zeal,)

To future Age I made my juſt Appeal.

But what deteſted Spell my Shade cou’d raiſe

To ſuffer L――s’ Spleen, or Toland’s Praiſe?

Above thy Rage, above thy Flattery more,

The tort’ring Shells with leſs Regret I bore:

Alas! by thee ’tis Honour to be blam’d;

And to be prais’d by thee to be defam’d.

Severe! tho’ conſcious Innocence ſuſtains

The Mind, and mean Apology diſdains:

That Conduct to ambiguous Guilt belongs,

Or Souls unequal to the Weight of Wrongs.

To ſuch her Fame would inbred Virtue owe,

Whom her exalted Flight ſurveys below,

Unſkill’d to judge, tho’ forward to beſtow,

Yet to th’Unbyaſs’d, the diſtinguiſh’d Few,

Whoſe clearer Judgment makes a juſt Review,

She turns undaunted, and ſubmits her Cauſe:

Nor ſhrinks from Cenſure, nor demands Applauſe.

Such Gen’rous Warmth true Modeſty inſpires,

Where ſervile Shame with Coward Dread retires:

Virtue and Vice miſtaken for the ſame;

Yet more diſtinct in Nature than in Name.

What cruel Laws depreſs the female Kind,

To humble Cares and ſervile Taſks confin’d?

In gilded Toys their florid Bloom to ſpend,

And empty Glories that in Age muſt end:

For am’rous Youth to ſpread the artful Snares;

And by their Triumphs to enlarge their Cares.

For, C10r 67

For, once engag’d in the domeſtic Chain,

Compare the Sorrows, and compute the Gain;

What Happineſs can Servitude afford?

A Will reſign’d to an imperious Lord,

Or Slave to Avarice, to Beauty blind,

Or ſour’d with Spleen, or ranging unconfin’d.

That haughty Man, unrival’d and alone,

May boaſt the World of Science all his own:

As barb’rous Tyrants to ſecure their Sway,

Conclude that Ignorance will beſt obey.

Then boldly loud, and privileg’d to rail,

As Prejudice o’er Reaſon may prevail,

Unequal Nature is accus’d to fail.

The Theme, in keen Iambics ſmoothly writ,

Which was but Malice late, ſhall ſoon be Wit.

Nature in vain can Womankind inſpire

With brighter Particles of active Fire,

Which to their Frame a due Proportion hold,

Refin’d by dwelling in a purer Mold,

If uſeleſs Ruſt muſt fair Endowments hide;

Or Wit, diſdaining Eaſe, be miſapply’d.

’Tis then that Wit, which Reaſon ſhou’d refine,

And diſengage the Metal from the Mine,

Luxuriates; or degen’rates to Deſign.

Wit unemploy’d becomes a dang’rous Thing;

As Waters ſtagnate, and defile their Spring.

The cultivated Mind, a fertile Soil,

With rich Increaſe rewards the uſeful Toil:

But fallow left, an hateful Crop ſucceeds,

Of tangling Brambles, and pernicious Weeds;

’Tis C10v 68

’Tis endleſs Labour then the Ground to clear,

And truſt the doubtful Earneſt of the Year.

Yet oft we hear, in Height of ſtupid Pride,

Some ſenſeleſs Ideot curſe a letter’d Bride.

Is this a Crime? for female Minds to ſhare

The early Influence of inſtructive Care:

To learn from treach’rous Paſſions to diveſt

The yielding Softneſs of a youthful Breaſt;

The Heart with ſolid Prudence to redeem

From fond, miſtaken Objects of Eſteem.

To ſee in Fortune, when ſhe ſmiles ſerene,

A dang’rous Syren with a fawning Mien:

But when ſhe frowns, to ſcorn her vain Alarms,

Secure in Virtue’s adamantine Arms,

Or to diſtinguiſh, with a ſtricter View,

The near Reſemblance of the Falſe and True:

Of Vice and Virtue there the Bounds to fix,

Juſt where their fading Colours ſeem to mix.

Or yet is this a Crime? By Meaſures juſt,

In figur’d Space to circumſcribe the Duſt:

With Ecſtacy, Proportion to compare,

Of ſtreight and crooked, circular and ſquare;

Abſtracted Truths in Numbers to explain,

Or in myſterious Secrecy retain.

Or yet is this a Crime? the Mind to raiſe,

To follow Nature in her winding Ways:

To interdicted Knowledge to aſpire,

And of the mighty Parent thus enquire.

How C11r 69

How all that Reaſon points, or Senſe can ſee,

At firſt began, and yet perſiſts to be:

How, link’d in Peace, the Elements combine,

And each contributes to the great Deſign;

Tho’ when the chymic Fires their Parts divide,

The Volatile aſcend, the Groſs subside.

What in her Cells the central Earth contains;

How latent Metals ripen in their Veins:

How ruder Flints the ſparkling Gem incloſe;

And how amid the Rock the Ruby glows.

From whence the Ear4th imbibes the humid Stores,

Which weeping Marble ouzes at its Pores:

Why juſtly ſhe renews the annual Scene,

Now white with Snow, now gay with ſpringing Green.

Whence knows th’ refluent Ocean to obey

Th’alternate Impulſe of the lunar Ray.

What diff’rent Principles do Life beſtow

Upon the Scale of Beings here below;

Whence ſome have only to exiſt and grow.

Of theſe, why ſome upon their native Bed

Lye proſtrate: ſome to Heav’n erect the Head;

Why ſome a leavy Shade alone produce;

Why others cluſt’ring Fruit and gen’rous Juice.

Why ſome the Air with ſpicy Odors fill;

Some thro’ the wounded Bark their Balm diſtil:

Whence ſome have Pow’r to ſtay the fleeting Breath;

And ſome the fatal Shafts of inſtant Death.

Or why thoſe Beings which we Brutes miſcal,

So cloſely imitate the Rational.

How- C11v 70

Howe’er that Fire that animates their Frame

May be defin’d, or whence ſoe’er it came;

Which now collected, and in Bodies fix’d,

With liquid Air hereafter may be mix’d:

Yet by external Acts they ſeem endu’d

With Hatred, Love, Reſentment, Gratitude;

Almoſt the Samian Sage Belief might gain,

That tranſmigrating Souls their Breaſts contain.

Or how the Race of Man perceives within,

That Principle whence theſe Demands begin:

How Nature does in him to Senſe unite

A more exalted Flame, and purer Light,

Empower’d to chooſe, reject, divide, combine,

With Rays reflected on the Paſt to ſhine,

And thence the diſtant Future to divine.

Whether, diſtinct, the Heav’n-born Mind controul

The headſtrong Animal, the lower Soul;

Or but a Part herſelf conduct the Whole.

Or of Primæval Light is ſhe a Ray,

Infus’d to guide the amicable Clay?

Or hold theſe Bodies the reluctant Mind

In Penalty of former Guilt confin’d?

Is ſhe again thro’ other Forms to ſtray?

Or wait the Doom of one deciſive Day?

Yet, as ſhe may, her Forces ſhe explores,

And far above the Orb ſublunar ſoars.

She leaves the leſs’ning Earth, and upwars ſprings,

On purer Æther to expand her Wings;

A C12r 71

A nobler Pitch her bold Enquiries fly,

Amid the Fields of her congenial Sky.

She ſees the Lights which we accuſe to ſtray,

In meaſur’d Dance purſue their certain Way:

And thouſand Stars, which ſcarce to us appear,

With vivid Rays illuminate the Sphere;

In deepen’d Spaces, annd retiring Files,

Whoſe Diſtance hence the weary Eye beguiles.

She ſees where Comets trail their fiery Hair,

Terrific Luſtre! thro’ the ſhining Air:

Nor Vapours they, whoſe Levity aſpires

At Phœbus’ Car to catch Promethean Fires;

But real Stars, which extinguiſh’d burn,

Thro’ larger Periods of a juſt Return.

Whether that Spirit which o’er all preſides

Infus’d thro’ all its equal motions guides,

Or from the whole diſtinct, himſelf unſeen,

Conducts and regulates the vaſt Machine,

Let Heav’n decide, by Reaſon’s finite View

To judge the Diff’rence, wou’d the Doubt renew:

Yet ſhe aſpires that Being to explore,

The Source of all, and wond’ring to adore.

Shall jealous Man to Woman then deny,

In theſe Debates her Faculties to try;

And ſpend the Moments which unheeded fly?

For this muſt our unhappy Sex engage

Relentleſs Malice, and Barbarian Rage?

While Tyrant Cuſtom Reaſon over-awes;

And partial Humour to the World gives Laws.

Yet C12v 72

Yet theſe may conſcious Innocence defy,

Approv’d to Virtue, and ſecure to dye:

No Doubt remains, that Fame ſhall then be juſt,

When Spleen and Creature ſhall be laid in Duſt;

That future Ages ſhall reverſe their Doom,

Nor impious Envy violate the Tomb.

For Virtue then, with native Luſtre bright,

From Time and Death receives her ſtrongeſt Light:

So when nice Art with Nature ſeems at Strife,

To animate the Canvas into Life,

The juſt Obſcure the bolder Light confines,

And ſoft’ning Shadows ſwell the glowing Lines.

If in this little Piece the Doubts concerning the ſupreme Being be thought exceptionable, or any Paſſage in it inconſiſtent with the modern Philoſophy, it muſt be conſidered that I was to adapt my Notions to the Character of an Heathen and a Platoniſt, who is ſup-poſed to deliver them: Indeed as to Comets, I have deviated a little to follow the late Improvements of Aſtronomy.

Hymn to the Paraclete.

At 1723Whitſontide, 1723.

Othou the Third in that eternal Trine!

In individuate Unity divine!

Tho’ me my humble Fate denies to raiſe

The votive Temple, ſacred to thy Praiſe,

Where D1r 73

Where Columns in extended Ranks retire,

And ſounding Arches eccho to the Choir,

Where in the ample Dome the central Eye

Beholds the imitated Round of Sky,

Where on the Roof the artful Colours glow,

Whoſe Height and Diſtance juſter Grace beſtow,

Where Order and Magnificence combine,

The poliſh’d Marble and the golden Mine,

Yet thine the Temple of my Breaſt ſhall be,

If purify’d and conſecrate by Thee:

Thither, ſerene, indulgent Gueſt! repair,

And fix thy bleſs’d Abode for ever there.

Whether the plaſtic Spirit Thou deſcend;

And o’er my Soul thy Dove-like Wings extend:

The warring Seeds of Nature to ſubdue;

And call thy fair Creation forth anew.

Whether the Advocate by Heav’n aſſign’d,

At once to comfort and convince the Mind;

The fiery-parted Tongues, th’ impetuous Wind:

Tho’ bellying Clouds the ſable Skies inveſt,

And pois’nous Vapours breath the direful Peſt,

Yet thoſe before th’ impetuous Wind retire,

And theſe are purg’d by thy celeſtial Fire.

Thou the chief Boon propitious Heav’n beſtows!

To whom her Force recruited Nature owes!

Diſpel the Gloom of melancholy Fear,

That all within may ſhine ſerenely clear;

Nor ſuffer Guilt, a worſe Contagion, there.

Within my Heart if Thou deſcend to dwell,

To Thee the Shrine, and to my Soul the Cell,

D If D1v 74

If thither Thou deſcend, a decent Band,

Shall all thy Graces at thy Altar ſtand:

Here Faith to Heav’n ſhall lift her Eagle Eye,

And prompt Obedience wait attentive by;

Here Penitence ſhall drop a ſilent Tear,

And holy Hope the penſive Mourner chear.

Here Piety ſhall her Oblation bring,

Her Pray’r the Fragrance of an Eaſtern Spring:

In proſtrate Adoration here ſhall lye,

Upon the ſacred Floor, Humility.

Here awful Juſtice ſhall her Balance hold,

Where Innocence can turn the Scale with Gold:

Here heav’nly-minded Wiſdom from above,

Shall to the Serpent reconcile the Dove.

Here Charity her Offspring ſhall embrace,

And on her Boſom lull her tender Race:

Here rev’rend Truth, and Purity of Mind,

And calm Content to Providence reſign’d,

Here, arm’d with fiery Darts, ſhall Love divine,

A Seraph wing’d, reſide; and Peace ſhall twine

Her everlaſting Olives round thy Shrine.

My Soul, illumin’d with an heav’nly Beam,

Shou’d ſlake her Thirſt at thy diffuſive Stream:

Then Heav’nward ſhe ſhou’d wing her noble Flight,

And float upon the vaſt Abyſs of Light;

Or, from the Chains of Senſe and Matter free,

Mount on a fiery Car of Zeal to thee.

Yet this ſince frail Mortality denies,

To Thee ſhe brings her humble Sacrifice:

Con- I D2r 75

Content, if Thou her pious Hopes inſpire,

That when thy Choſen juſt complete thy Choir,

To Thee ſhe then may ſing, to Thee may touch the Lyre.

Ex Job, Capite XXVI. v. 7.

De Deo.

Ille equidem magno Boream prætendit inani:

Et nihilo impoſuit terræ libratile pondus.

Ille etiam denſis conſstringit nubibus undas:

Nec tanto undarum rumpuntur pondere nubes.

Diſpoſuitque adytis ſolium; penituſque remotum

Et nube, atque atro tenebrarum obvelat amictu,

Oceano fines circumdedit; uſque diei

Dum ceſſant radii, dum ceſſant ſydera noctis.

Illius ad monitum cœli intremuêre columnæ,

Attonitæ; virtute ſuâ qui dividit æquor,

Atque altè, prudens, infigit tela ſuperbis.

Mente fuâ ſummas ornaverat ætheris arces:

Ille ſuâ dextrâ ſinoſum flexerat anguem. Zodiacum.

Hæ operum pars eſt (tamen hæ quantilla) Jehovæ.

Ecquis, Io, novit queis viribus intonat ille?

D2 From D2v 76

From Job, Chap. XXVI. v. 7.

Of God.

He o’er the ſpacious Void the North extends:

On nothing He the balanc’d Orb ſuſpends.

He binds the Waters in the thick’ning Clouds;

Nor burſt the Clouds beneath the weighty Floods.

He, in the deep Receſs, his Throne conceals;

And, all above, with gloomy Darkneſs veils.

The Main he limits with the ambient Shore,

Till Day and Night alternate roll no more.

The Poles of Heav’n, like Columns unremov’d,

With Horror tremble when by him reprov’d,

He, in his Strength, divides the vaſt Profound;

The Proud, in Wiſdom, deeply does He wound.

His Spirit Heav’n adorn’d; his Hand inroll’d

The bending Serpent The Zodiac in a circling Fold.

Theſe of his Works are Part; a ſlender Store!

But who can know Him thund’ring in his Pow’r!

Pſalmus D3r 77

Pſalmus XXIX.

Vos, debellatus quorum ſub legibus orbis,

Hoc agite; armatâ meditatus prælia fronte,

Dux gregis ad ſacram ſiſtatur numinis âram:

Illi mactandus, cœlorum excelſa tenenti,

Qui ſceptra, & rutilis invictum robur in armis,

Contulerat; tanto reddentur nomine grates:

Supplice corde Deo, precibuſque litate pudicis;

Caſtaque adorandum venerentur pectora Numen.

Ille coercerat reboantia flumina ripis:

Ille & diffiſſis jaculatur nubibus ignes;

Et circumfuſo diſtrinxit littore pontum.

Vox ſonat ipſa Deum; quantâ virtute tonantem!

Vox ſonat ipſa Deum; pro majeſtate tonantem.

Vox ſonat ipſa Deum; flexere cacumina cedri:

Diruptaſque trabes, & fiſſo cortice cedros

Libanus, & Sylvas a vertice plorat ademptas.

Libanus ipſe ſalit vitulus ceu matre relictâ:

Et noſtræ cingens confinia Sirion oræ,

Rhinoceros veluti parvo petit obvia cornu.

Voce ſuâ ſparſos Dominus modo diſcutit ignes:

Voce quatit Sylvas; noſtræ contermina terræ,

En! trepidat ſaxoſa Cades. Damæque fugaces

Ventris onus ponunt; flammis dumeta relucent:

Templa ſonant, reboant lætum faſtigia carmen.

obscured1 lettert Pater Oceano fruſtraque frementibus undis,

Aſidens tenet æterni moderamina ſceptri:

D3 Bello D3v 78

Bello & pace potens, qui claros Marte triumphos,

Qui pacis lætos populis largitur honores.

Pſalmus LXXIX.

O Deus, invadunt populi tua regna profani:

Aſpice ſacrilegâ diruta templa manu.

Jamque æquata ſolo, et magnis ſpectanda ruinis,

Infelix Solyme, gloria noſtra, jacet.

Jamque piorum avido projecta cadavera roſtro

Vultur, jam rabido diripit ore lupus.

Perque vias Solymæ fuſus ruit undique ſanguis,

Ut tumet hybernis auctio amnis aquis.

Quique pio officio componat corpora lecto

Pallida funereo, nullus amicus adeſt:

Hoſtiles tulimus faſtus; riſuque jociſque

Inſultat noſtris obvia turba malis.

An Deus æternum ſævis? tibi numne perennes

Ignis inexſtincti ſubjicit ira faces?

Juſta licet, gentes potius petat illa profanas;

Scilicet ignaras immemoreſque tui:

Siqua tibi nunquam votis operata pudicis;

Siqua pias nunquam concipit ore preces.

Nempe Jacobæos patriâ ferus expulit hoſtis;

Barbarus abreptas et populatur opes.

Priſea tamen nunquam ſubeant tibi crimina mentem:

Sed ſer maturo tempore mitis opem.

To decet, alme Parens, rebus ſuccurrere lapſis:

Parta tibi noſtræ fama ſalutis erit.

Con- D4r 79

Conſule jam miſeris: Nobis placabile ſemper

Numen, et auguſti nominis eſto memor.

Cur toties nobis populi objecere propinqui

Dicite ubi veſter jam Deus ille latet?

O ſi cernere ſit nobis, mora ſegnis abeſto;

Cernere erit, quum tu conſpiciendus eris;

Innocuique aderis cultorum ſanguinis ultor,

Et ſcelerum pœnas barbara turba dabit.

Quæ captivorum laſſant ſuſpiria pectus

Et leni triſtes accipe mente preces:

Utque tui juris mors eſt et vita, lacerto

Eripe tu valido corpora danda neci.

Te quibus opprobiis vicinia læfit, et ipſis

In proprios reddas terque quaterque ſinus.

Nos tua turba tibi grati inſtauramus honores;

Nos tibi ceu proprium læta per arva pecus:

Sic tua venturi memorabunt facta nepotes;

Ne taceant laudes ſæcula ſera tuas.

Quâ celer Euphrates Babylonia rura pererrat,

Margine in irriguo dum nos conſedimus omnes,

Infelix Solymê! memori ſtant mente dolores

Te ſuper, inque genas lacrymæ volvuntur inanes:

Inque falicta lyræ, lento curvamine, pendent.

At domini illudunt curis; mœſtâque referri

Voce, jubent notum Solymæa per atria carmen,

O rector mundi! tu carminis hujus origo!

D4 Barba- D4v 80

Barbaricâne ſacer cantabitur hymnus in ora?

O Patria! O Solyme! ſi ſalteni, oblivia demant

Te, veneranda, mihi, fugiat ſua munera dextra:

Et lingua æternum tacito, precor, hæreat ore,

Excidere ex animo ſi tu, cariſſima, poſſis:

Siqua meum, ſine te, pertentant gaudia pectus.

O! tandem exaudi, pœnas crudelis Idume

Pendeat ex æquo: Solymes cum debita fatis

Atra dies aderat, ſcelus hæc hortata, jubebat

Tecta ſolo æquari, ſternique in pulvere turres.

At reſtas, Babylon, in quot ſervata dolores:

Jam prope conſequitur, felixque vocabitur ultor,

Qui tibi, pro Solymê, victricia jura rependet:

Quique tuam prolem ſaxis illidet acutis.

Ex Libro IV. De Immiatione Christi. Cap. VIII. Christus ad Animam.

Porrectis quoniam lignum per triſte lacertis,

Supplicium nudo corpore ſponte tuli:

Nil ſuit integrum, membris animâque litavi;

Æterno ceſſi victima grata Deo.

San- D5r 81

Sanguine qui ſuſo placavi numinis iram,

Me tibi qui dederam, te mihi jure negas?

Quid cumulata mihi ſtruis uſque altaria donis

Divitibus, deſit ſi mihi dantis amor?

Intemerata ſides, caſtæ concordia mentis,

Et pietas magni muneris inſtar erit.

Me fine, vel fruſtra arridet tibi blanda voluptas:

Me ſine nec proſunt quas tibi quæris opes.

Scilicet an quicquam, quam ſis male grata, negavi?

Te corpus paſcit, ſanguinis unda lavat.

Ni ſecura mihi vitamque animamque reſignes,

Non tibi cœleſtis vincula nectet amor.

Aſt ego te miſeris jubeo valedicere nugis:

Obſequio cupias ſi placuiſſe tuo.

Te tandem, vacuo poſitis e pectore curis,

Trade mihi, monitis erudienda meis.

Aldricius de Pæto. Memoriter.

Mane ceu Pæti viret herba campis

Indicis, ſucciſa cadente Phœo,

Aret, humanæ miſeranda vitæ

Præterit umbra.

Fiſtula quſquis ſtudioſe Pæt

Hos bibis ſuccos ſapiens memento

Inſtar ut fumi exeat in vagantes

Spiritus auras.

D5 Fiſtu- D5v 82

Fiſtulam ſpectes, fragilemque lapſu

Fictilem argillam; monet ut caducum

Fæce terrenâ minimoque conſtet

Pulvere corpu.

En! color certat nivibus; ſed intra

Multa ſuligo Medium canalem

Polluit; tanquam maculas referret

Pectoris atri.

Ut tamen ſordes renovata flammis

Exuit nigras, animus vel olim,

Igne purgatis vitiis, nitebit

Ætheris hoſpes.

M.S. Johannis Woodward, M.D.

Woodwardus actis ille laboribus

Telluris imæ qua licuit ſinum

Scrutatus arcanum, parentis

Conditus hic gremio quieſcit.

Quamvis medentum nobilis artibus:

Verique ſacras pandere origines,

Doctus; ſuperjectis ut olim

Terra vetus latitârit undis.

Immerſa donec conditor optimus

Fluctus vagantes oceani ſimul

Rede- D6r 83

Redegit in priſcas lacunas,

Et ſtabilem recreavit orbem.

Mirere conchas per juga Montium:

Effoſſa ſaxis et ſpolia æquoris,

Artuſque phocarum relictos;

Quæque tulit peregrina tellus.

Nec livor unquam, nec fuga temporis

Oblivioſi, ſolveret hoc opus:

Natura, ni tecum periret,

Ætherâ populante flammâ.

In parmam Woodwardianam.

Semicremata vides disjectis mœnia ſaxis:

En! verſa in cineres maxima Roma jacet.

En! aurum appenſum; ſtat contra, injuſtaque ferri

Lancibus imponit pondera celta ſerox.

Romanæ advolitant acies, mediuſque citatum

Impellit torvâ fronte Camillus equum.

Umbo ſemper erit nulli violabilis ævo:

Artifices celant tempora longa manus.

Sedibus ereptum ſacratis rite reponet

Fama tamen Domini poſteritaſque memor.

D6 Ad D6v 84

Ad Fratrem Brugis ageniem.

O! mihi ſiquis, patrioque cœo,

Te, licet ſero, incolumem redonet:

Te nec æternum Morinorum in agros

Fata relegent.

Quos procax nobis numeros, jocuſque

Muſa dictaret? mihi dum tibique

Temperent baccis Arabes, vel herbis

Pocula ſeres.

Ex proſâ Latina Epigrammatum delectu, in uſum Etonesium.

Terra parens rerum, poſt actos rite labores,

Agricolam gremio tu bona conde bonum.

Sæpe tibi duræ ſtirpem commiſit olivæ;

Populeas vinxit palmite ſæpe comas:

Utilis et pratis, cerealibus utilis agris;

Ducere vel rivos per ſata doctus aquæ.

Hic olus aſſurgit; vel preſſi pondere rami

Poma ferunt Domino ruſtica dona ſuo.

Quid tibi, ſancte ſenex, meritis pro talibus optem?

Quid tibi pro meritis grata rependat humus?

Tu D7r 85

Tu ſaltem, Tellus, canis levis eſto coloni;

Et fac perpetuis floreat urna rofis.

Anne Boleyn to King Henry VIII.

An Epistle.

Amid the Joys of this auſpicious Hour,

When Fame exalted and extended Pow’r

With mingled Rays your Sov’reign Head adorn,

Permit unhappy Anne at leaſt to mourn:

Permit one Object to diſturb the Scene,

An injur’d Lover and a captive Queen,

That Hand which late the regal Sceptre bore,

And which, when join’d to yours, was honour’d more,

Scarce to its Taſk the trembling Pen conſtrains;

So much is Grief a greater Weight than Chains.

Irreſolute I ſit; alike ’tis vain

Or to ſuppreſs my Sorrows, or complain

Of Woes that Language never can contain.

What Nature moſt to Womankind endears,

Whate’er the firſt and juſteſt Value bears

By univerſal Voice, demands my Tears.

With Fear my Boſom beats, and ſinks with Shame,

When the Debate is Life, and Love, and Fame.

O! how can I proceed, ſo faſt ariſe

The crowding Images, and ſtream my Eyes!

Or D7v 86

Or whence, my Liege! ſhall my Complaint begin

To move Compaſſion, or Belief to win?

When now the Series of a blamleſs Life

Is found too weak to vindicate your Wife.

To prove that Truth requir’d by your Command,

Let all my Actions be ſeverely ſcan’d:

To you my Virtue makes a bold Appeal;

Cou’d or your Greatneſs, or your Pow’r prevail?

Or cou’d your Perſon, grac’d above Compare

With manly Beauty, and an awful Air?

Or all the Charms that Learning cou’d impart

To native Eloquence, with ſoothing Art,

To charm the Frailty of a female Heart?

While rival Princeſſes aſpir’d in vain

To ſhare your Empire, or your Heart to gain,

While jealous France her utmoſt Efforts try’d

To buy your Friendſhip with a royal Bride, A Royal Bride. Margaret Dutcheſs of Alençon, afterwards Queen of Navarre, Siſter to Fran. I. famous for her Wit and Patronage of Learning.

Cou’d any Arts my Innocence ſurprize?

For guarded Virtue ſees thro’ other Eyes.

Let ev’n that jealous France my Deeds report;

A daring Challenge to a partial Court!

There paſs’d my early Years, and thence I claim

The Debt of Juſtice, to defend my Name.

Wou’d two great Queens, Two great Queens. Mary, Siſter to King Henry, firſt marriedried ried to Lewis XII. of France, afterward to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and the Conſort of Francis I. by Virtue plac’d as high,

In ſpotleſs Fame, as beauteous in the Eye,

Among D8r 87

Among their honourable Maids retain

Suſpected Boleyn, touch’d with guilty Stain,

Dear to their Breaſt, and foremoſt of their Train?

Where Virtue fails, what Arguments can move?

Can tend’reſt Proofs of undiſſembled Love?

Such as in Virgin Hearts from Nature ſpring,

Diſtinguiſhing the Lover from the King.

From Pow’r abſtracted to yourſelf be juſt;

Reflect again, and ſcorn the mean Diſtruſt.

’Tis true that never durſt my baſhful Eye,

Much leſs my humble Thoughts have ſoar’d ſo high

I well concluded what Event muſt wait

On Love divided by unequal Fate:

When Paſſion is the blind Effect of Chance,

The ſlight Impreſſion of a tranſient Glance;

When Prudence, Int’reſt, and the potent Voice

Of Fame conſpire, and all reprove the Choice.

Whate’er of fond, believing Maids I heard,

And Men inconſtant, for myſelf I fear’d:

Too well your Sex weak Woman knows to gain,

With fictious Vows, and a deluſive Strain

’Till ev’n our Hearts your Artifices aid,

Or by Ambition, or by Love betray’d.

The Conqueſt won, away the Victor flies,

To ſeek Variety in other Eyes:

While the forſaken Fair beholds him part,

And pines with Anguiſh of a broken Heart.

Ev’n D8v 88

Ev’n then, when flatt’ring Stars the Paſſion bleſs,

And Hymenæals crown the wiſh’d Succeſs,

Then ſtern Ambition points to other Views;

Or ſome ſucceeding Flame the paſt ſubdues,

And Man the Chace of novelty purſues.

He looks abroad, and ſtruggles to be freed;

Diſguſts and Jealouſies, alas! ſucceed.

He wiſhes for the Hour that ſhall divide

The weary Huſband from the ſuff’ring Bride;

Or elſe prevents it, by ſome uſeful Flaw,

Some lucky Turn of miſconſtructed Law.

Too well I gueſs’d what muſt at laſt enſue:

Too ſoon theſe direful Omens ſtruck my View,

When firſt, my Liege! I heard of Love and You.

But then my unſuſpecting Soul aſſur’d

A nobler Mind my Happineſs ſecur’d:

That ſuch a Change in you no Place cou’d find;

Whom Nature had for Royalty deſign’d,

And pointed out the firſt of all Mankind.

To Crowns and Sceptres Fortune can advance;

But to deſerve them is no Work of Chance.

Rebels and Foes that Valour claims to awe,

That Wiſdom, Nations to receive its Law;

(I argued thus,) and he who can perſuade He who can perſuade the Learn’d and Wiſe. Henry VIII. was both a learned and accompliſhed Prince; and, as my Lord Herbert relates, one of the handſomeſt Men of his Time, when he married Jane Seymour.

The Learn’d and Wiſe, He who can perſuade the Learn’d and Wiſe. Henry VIII. was both a learned and accompliſhed Prince; and, as my Lord Herbert relates, one of the handſomeſt Men of his Time, when he married Jane Seymour. may well an harmleſs Maid.

Witneſs D9r 89

Witneſs my Heart from all Ambition free,

No Hope of Greatneſs ever conquer’d me!

But by your Love encourag’d, I aſpir’d:

How eaſy ’twas to like what all admir’d!

This Truth I now without a Bluſh may own,

That Love determin’d me, and Love alone,

To tempt the ſlipp’ry Grandeur of a Throne.

Let theſe Reflections touch my Henry’s Mind;

Said I my Henry? I the King deſign’d:

Forgive the erring Pen that yet dares write

The paſt Endearments Love would ſtill indite.

Tho’ from your Throne and Boſom forc’d to part,

I bear your Image in my faithful Heart:

Your Royalty with Eaſe I can reſign;

But never can forget you once were mine.

Witneſs, ye cruel Tow’rs! how oft I call

The Name of Henry from the ecchoing Wall:

Witneſs the Glaſs! which with a dimmer Ray

Thro’ interpoſing Grates admits the Day;

Where oft the Diamond, of your former Flame

The earlieſt Earneſt, traces Henry’s Name.

No! till I ſink into the ſilent Tomb,

If ſuch your Will, and my impendent Doom,

Shall unexſtinguiſh’d burn the ſacred Fires,

Which Virtue warrants and which Love inſpires.

Why does my Mind ſo ſad a Fate preſage!

Preventing Nature, Maladies, and Age!

When youthful Blood with lively Spirit warms,

And roſeate Health diffuſes all her Charms,

When D9v 90

When ev’ry Object ſmiling, freſh and gay,

Adorns the Proſpect, to be ſnatch’d away!

To grow a ſtupid Maſs of mould’ring Clay!

Whither? Ah! whither muſt we then remove?

Where muſt the diſcontented Spirit rove?

From Pow’r, from Pleaſure, all that here below

Enchants our Senſes, all Mankind muſt go:

But whither? that to point our Reaſon errs;

And only humble Faith relieves our Fears;

She promiſes that guiltleſs Souls ſhall know

What laſting Bliſs celeſtial Seats beſtow;

What blooming Sweets the injur’d Name embalm,

And how the Martyr gains the Victor-Palm.

By her ſupported, I reſign my Fear:

But wounded Honour!――’tis too much to bear!

Honour both Sexes have agreed the beſt,

The nobleſt Paſſion of a virtuous Breaſt:

To fighting Fields ſhe calls the Hero forth,

To prove his Valour, and atteſt his Worth;

By martial Toils the glorious Prize to buy,

With Honour conquer or with Honour dye.

In Womankind ſhe wears a diff’rent Dreſs,

Frailty to guard, and Paſſion to ſuppreſs:

She forms the Manners with exacteſt Care;

Of each ambiguous Action, bids, beware!

And regulates the Motions of the Mind,

By her conducted, and to her reſign’d.

’Tis all, alas! that Woman has to boaſt:

And all that Woman has in her is loſt.

By wretched Anne how can the Load be born

Of private Cenſure, and of public Scorn?

And D10r 91

And harder yet to bear, when diſapprov’d

By you, a Lover once, and ſtill belov’d.

Think then what Sorrow I muſt undergo;

Here Senſe of Virtue but augments the Woe:

For her, my Cheeks the glowing Bluſhes dye;

For her, whole Oceans gather in my Eye.

In vain the Paſſion ſtrives in Words to break;

The Cauſe too odious and too great to ſpeak:

If in Diſgrace my tragic Scene muſt end,

And I diſhonour’d to the Shades deſcend.

O! had I periſh’d but obſcure, unknown!

Far from the envy’d Splendors of a Crown!

Then had at once expir’d my Breath and Name;

As ſafe from Slander as remote from Fame.

But now, alas! while each ſucceeding Age

Shall of your Annals turn the ſhining Page,

To learn how warlike Scotland felt your Arms,, How warlike Scotland felt your Arms The Defeat of James IV.

And England triumph’d free from all Alarms,

How potent France your valu’d Friendſhip ſought,

And how beneath your Standards, Cæſar fought, Beneath your Standards Cæſar fought The Emperor Maximilian I.

In other Combats how from Rome you gain’d In other Combats bow from Rome. The Stile of Defender of the Faith, conferr’d on this King and his Succeſſors by the Pope, for writing againſt Luther.

The glorious Stile for ſacred Faith maintain’d,

There D10v 92

There ſtill muſt I be read; while Times to come

Renew my Suff’rings, and repeat my Doom:

As wayward Humor governs ev’ry Breaſt,

Judg’d by the Bad, ev’n doubted by the Beſt.

Where ſhall my queſtion’d Innocence appeal,

When partial Spleen aſſumes the Mask of Zeal? Partial Spleen aſſumes the Maſk of Zeal. The Popiſh Clergy, whoſe bitter Malice to this Queen appears from the ſcurrilous and improbable Reflections of Sanders the Jeſuit: For ’tis not very likely that a Woman of a public bad Character, and withal ſo indifferent a Perſon as he repreſents her, could captivate a Prince, who did not need to be at a Loſs for a Wife at that Time.

Hard Fate! for ever that I muſt engage

The various Inſults of injurious Rage:

My own misjudging Sex, who, loth to blame

Their own Defects, imagine mine the ſame;

Or Men who triumph in a proſtrate Fame.

And ſcarce among the Herd of Readers find

One pitying Tear, to ſpeak a gen’rous Mind.

Unhappy Beauty! of our Woes the Spring!

Of all our Vanities the vaineſt Thing!

Fondly by our unthinking Sex deſir’d;

The more endanger’d as the more admir’d!

But for a certain Fall to Greatneſs rais’d!

But lov’d for Change, and but for Cenſure prais’d!

Here my Reflections ceaſe; and turn no more

On what my Soul had propheſy’d before.

How miſerable is the Priſ’ner’s State

Who lingers in the ſlow Suſpenſe of Fate!

Is there a greater Ill?――Yes! one remains;

The doubted Fame which foul Suſpicion ſtains.

To D11r 93

To obviate this, undaunted I demand

That at the Bar of Juſtice I may ſtand:

Nor there, O King! your helpleſs Wife expoſe

To the fell Rage of her relentleſs Foes;

But let the World decide, on what were built

The baſe Surmiſes of objected Guilt.

Or I abſolv’d ſhall vindicate from Stain

Your Royal Infant and your glorious Reign,

Or ſink in Ruin, nor my Fame ſurvive;

’Twould then be Cruelty to bid me live.

Nor ſhall I then, to your Delight a Bar,

Retard the Influence of a fairer Star: A fairer Star. Jane Seymour.

I could have pointed to the Name before,

But Love is timorous, and I forebore.

Yet if Ambition urge, Yet if Ambition urge. I have not ſcrupled, by the prophetic Spirit which Poeſy allows to dying Perſons, to allude to the current Opinion, that King Henry ſacrificed this Queen likewife, tho in a different Manner, to the Security of the Succeſſion; Tho’ the beſt of our Hiſtorians contradict it, and clear King Henry in this particular. and publick Good

Beſt by the Monarch’s Will be underſtood,

She too may fall, whoſe now too potent Eyes

Enthral your Heart, herſelf your Sacrifice.

Unhappy ſhe, whoe’er like me muſt prove

The dire Diſaſter of ſuperior Love!

One only Inſtance yet remains behind

To plead my Cauſe, and touch your royal Mind:

I When D11v 94

When in our common Pledge Our common Pledge. Queen Elizabeth. yourſelf you view,

Believe me loyal then, believe me true.

How can you doubt me, when in her deſign’d

You ſee the ſtrongeſt Features of your Mind?

So juſt, ſo maſterly deſcrib’d they ſtand,

That Nature’s Work ſurpaſſes Holben’s Hand.

O! may ſhe ſtill ſurvive!――I aſk no more!

Tho’ Fancy augurs greater Things in Store,

To vindicate, tho’ late, my injur’d Name;

And emulate, perhaps, her Father’s Fame.

If in your Boſom to Concluſion draws

My Fate determin’d, and prejudg’d my Cauſe,

Yet think, on one impartial Day ſhall come

The Judge and Priſ’ner to receive their Doom:

’Tis certain that my Innocence ſhall clear,

However runs the Voice of Rumor here.

Yet no revengeful Wiſh my Breaſt ſhall ſtain,

Nor from the Seats of Bliſs my Soul detain:

Be all the Authors of my Wrongs forgiv’n,

And you abſolv’d before the Throne of Heav’n!

Yet, if I ever to your Breaſt was dear,

Your dread Diſpleaſure let me ſingly bear:

’Tis but a poor Requeſt to fall alone,

For her whom Fortune tumbles from a Throne.

Ye Angel Guardians! Ye Angel Guardians. Anne Boleyn ends her Letter with a Recomendation of the King to Heaven, too ſolemn to be introduced into this Sort of Poetry. who the Throne defend,

And hov’ring Light in Air, unſeen attend;

If D12r 95

If heav’nly Mind can hear a Mortal’s Pray’r,

From threat’ning Danger guard your ſacred Care:

From foreign Wars, and from ſeditious Strife,

From dark Conſpiracy preſerve his Life.

Nor ever, ever let the faithleſs Wiles

Of perjur’d Beauty Perjur’d Beauty. A Preſage hinting at the Infidelities of Catherine Howard. dreſt in gaudy Smiles,

The Conflict of the Royal Breaſt renew;

And by the falſe One juſtify the True.

If ever Boleyn to Remembrance brought

Too late ſhou’d Pity gain, ſuppreſs the Thought:

Ev’n Pity I renounce, if it muſt bring

But an uneaſy Moment to the King.

And whence, O ſad Reverſe of proſp’rous Fate!

Muſt theſe unhappy Lines receive their Date?

Not from fair Greenwich ever-pleaſing Bow’rs;

Not from the painted Roof of Woolfey’s Tow’rs: Woolſey’s Towers. Whitehall.

But from the Gothic Structures, Gothic Structures. The Lieutenant’s Houſe in the Tower. whence on high

Far, far Beneath I caſt my diſtant Eye,

And ſee your ſubject River rolling by.

Alas! how diff’rent from the ſhining Court

Is this Abode? debarr’d of all Reſort?

A Band of Goalers, not a Guard of State,

With ſurly Aſpect here obſerves the gate:

Where D12v 96

Where in its Fall the maſſive Barrier clangs, —

And threat’ning Ruin the Portcullis hangs.

Think how I paſs the melancholy Hours,

Alone, immur’d in theſe relentleſs Tow’rs,

My languid Head upon my Hand declin’d,

Supported only by the conſcious Mind.

The Day in penſive Solitude I weep,

And all the Night an anxious Vigil keep;

Or if my weary Eyes, at length oppreſt

With ever-during Cares, reſign to Reſt,

Soon ſtart aghaſt, with ſhrill-reſounding Streams,

From all the Terrors of preſaging Dreams:

Nor ſo reliev’d, the Terrors all remain,

Trac’d in too lively Colours on my Brain;

And imag’d ſtronger than they were before,

All ſeems a Viſion now, a Dream no more.

The dire Idea by Reflection frights:

Now murther’d Innocents and royal Sprights

Glancing all pale, before my Curtains glare,

Grizzly with gaping Wounds and upſtart Hair;

Or Forms of Fancy, or embody’d Air.

Now to my boding Fears the Spectres tell,

How pious Henry, Pious Henry. Henry VI. how young Edward Young Edward. Edward V. fell:

Come then! or calls a Voice, or ſeems to call

Increaſe the Number deſtin’d here to fall!

Here too my poor Remains muſt reſt unknown,

No Name inſcrib’d, no monumental Stone:

No E1r 97

No weeping Servant muſt my Hearſe attend,

No pious Kinſman, no afflicted Friend.

They fly me all! how barb’rous! how ingrate!

All but the faithful Few The faithful Few. Her Brother the Lord Rochford, Henry Norris, Eſq; and others who ſuffered on her Account. who ſhare my Fate!

Deterr’d by their Example, who ſhall dare

Compoſe my lifeleſs Limbs with decent Care?

Who from polluting Gore my Body lave?

Or lay me peaceful in an humble Grave?

Who then ſhall interdicted Pity ſhow?

Permit a Sigh to breath, a Tear to flow?

Or whiſp’ring ſoft, my mounting Spirit aid?

Light lye the Earth, and reſt the gentle Shade!

Such fun’ral Rites Hiſtorians have informed us that this unfortunate Lady was interred without even the Regards of common Decency: They tell us that not ſo much as a Coffin was provided for her; for Want of which her Body was put into an Arrow-Cheſt, and buried in the Tower Chapel before the high Altar. Where the high Altar ſtood, a Perſon beſt ſkilled in the Antiquities of the Place was not able to inform me; but it is conjectured by an Accident that happened a few Years ſince, that ſhe was not buried in the Chapel: For in a Cellar adjoining thereto were found, in ſuch a Cheſt as Writers mention, not very deeply covered with Earth, the Bonees of a human Body of a ſmall Stature, the Scull only wanting. Theſe Bones, after being view’d by ſeveral Perſons, were by all concluded to be the Remains of Anne Boleyn, and ſoon after again covered in the ſame Place. alone muſt I receive

As Enmity confers, or Chance can give.

Pity, the meaneſt Boon a Queen can claim,

Is due at leaſt to Boleyn’s once lov’d Name:

E That E1v 98

That Name had yet my nobleſt Boaſt remain’d,

Had not your Will another Fate ordain’d.

But you advanc’d me to an higher Sphere,

And Pembroke glitter’d with the Brighteſt there;

With more conſpicuous Luſtre next I ſhone,

Declar’d the Partner of your Heart and Throne:

Earth has no more to give,―― Alluding to her laſt Words: That the King of a private Gentlewoman had made her a Marchioneſs, of a Marchioneſs a Queen: and ſince he could prefer her no higher on Earth, of a Queen would maker her a Saint in Heaven. but you ſupply

Her Poverty, and lift me to the Sky;

Thither, where Amaranths eternal grow,

To wreath the Chaplet for the Martyr’s Brow.

The Hint of this Epſtle was taken from the laſt Letter of this unfortunate Pinceſs to King Henry, ſtill preſserved in the Cotton Library, and printed int he Spectators; in which we have a laſting Monument of the Quickneſs of her Underſtanding,, and the Greatneſs of her Spirit: To her Wit and engaging Behaviour ſhe owed her Advancement; her Ruin partly to the King’s Inconſtancy, and partly to Reaſon of State , which required a more indiſputed Succeſſion than could be had from a Marriage not acknowledged by foreign Princes. Tho’ it cannot be denied that her immoderate Fondneſs for being admired, the uſual Reſult of a French Education, as well as the implacable Malice of a Party who apprehended her Favour to the Reformation, contributed to her Fall: I ſhall not enter into her general Character, tho’ no Writer ſeems to have treated it with Impartiality, except E2r 99 except my Lord Herbert. But as I have given this Letter entirely a poetical Caſt, it was not improper to explain ſome Parts of the Hiſtory alluded to in it.

The microcosm, aſſerting the Dignity of Man.

Sanctius bis Animal, mentiſque capacius altæ. Ovid.
This Eſſay of mine was occaſioned by an ingenious Poem, called the Univerſe; which takes in the moſt curious Parts of Nature with a beautiful Variety: I think that Scripture favours the oppoſite Side; tho’ here accus’d of Self-Love and Arrogance. I refer the whole of this Argument to Pſalm 8. where it is expreſſed with a ſignificant and elegant Brevity. On this Svubject I firſt intended a larger Introduction: Bust as I deſign, not Controverſy, but Contraſt, ſhall content myſelf with what I have premiſed.

The Microcosm.

Ascend, my Soul, and elevate thy Thought,

To view the Wonders by thy Maker wrought;

To you bright Arch thy dazzled Eyes erect,

And in the Work confeſs the Architect:

Then, looking down, contracted in a Span,

Behold another Univerſe in Man.

E2 Duſt E2v 100

Duſt is his Origin, and Earth his Place:

But on the Mother’s Side tho’ Man be baſe,

Sprung from the ſacred Sire, to Heav’n ally’d,

The conſcious Soul maintains her noble Pride,

Nor is it Pride: What Gratitude were due

Unleſs the Value of the Gift ſhe knew?

No more, O Man! thy Faculties diſgrace;

Nor ſeek to herd among the reptile Race:

Nor thro’ the boundleſs Fields of Æther roam,

Loſt in thy Search――Begin thy Search at Home.

Think on thy firſt Forefather when he lay

Inanimate upon his native Clay:

The beauteous Symmetry, tho’ not inſpir’d

With vital Breath, was then to be admir’d.

When Art but imitates in Parian Stone,

The ſwelling Muſcles, and the jointed Bone,

The ſteady Thighs, the Ribs with eaſy Sweep,

Which all erect the ſtately Poſture keep,

The ſupple Knee, the Ancles firm to ſtand,

The bending Fingers, and the graſping Hand,

The Neck, with gentle Negligence inclin’d,

The lively Features that expreſs the Mind,

When thus, tho’ from the Marble hard and rude,

With yielding Fleſh the Figure ſeems endu’d,

How can its Air to Veneration move?

Or the cold Iv’ry warm the Carver’s Love?

What this external Mold contains within

Unſeen, unknown; to actuate the Machine,

Or why the whole, or why the Parts were made,

Each for itſself, and each for mutual Aid,

Re- E3r 101

Remains to aſk; See! from the Ground he ſprings.

What Pow’r has giv’n the grov’ling Creature Wings?

See! how to Heav’n he caſts his op’ning Eyes;

New to the Scene of Wonders he deſcries:

Then runs, and leaps, perceives and underſtands,

And lifts with ſudden Ecſtaſy his Hands;

Say, whence am I? and whence theſe Objects all

That ſtrike my Senſe? He calls, or ſeems to call.

What is that Senſe? how downward from the Brain

The ſubtile Nerves deduce their artful Chain,

And what æthereal Juice their Tubes contain,

What to the Ear impulſive Air conveys,

What in the Eye collects the viſual Rays,

Let Reaſon trade; in all their Mazes loſt:

The ſmalleſt Work commends the Artiſt moſt.

Yet Uſefulneſs of Parts, and Senſe acute,

Man but enjoys in common with the Brute:

They move, and feed, and leave their Like behind:

To him a nobler Province is aſſign’d,

To worſhip God, and benefit his Kind.

When from the Sun his Fire Prometheus ſtole,

Cou’d that give Reaſon to the human Soul?

That vital Fire each as he likes explain;

Lodg’d in the Heart, or lab’ring in the Brain,

From whence the circulating Spirits flow;

Pleaſure or Pain their Action may beſtow,

But ’tis the Mind determines Bliſs or Woe.

E3 Who E3v 102

Who was it firſt the infant Tongue unbound,

And tun’d it to the Elements of Sound?

The World of Beings by their Names to call,

Or by ſoft Intervals to riſe and fall?

The mimic Parrot ecchoes what is taught;

The Speech of Man is the Reſult of Thought:

The Lark and Linnet Strain their warbling Throats;

But not a Word accompanies their Notes.

O! then to God thy double Tribute bring!

Reaſon to ſpeak his Works, and Verſe to ſing.

Since ſuch Pre-eminence is thine alone,

In theſe great Gifts their greater Author own:

Nor doubt that all was giv’n to thy Command,

Arm’d with that Vide Ray on the Creation. uſeful Inſtrument, the Hand,

To tame thy Vaſſals of the Air and Land.

By this, and Reaſon’s Aid be taught to ſhear

The bleating Sheep, and break the ſturdy Steer:

Thine is the Robe the curling Fleeces yield;

And thine the Plenty of the furrow’d Field.

Go, lure the Falcon from his airy Way;

Not for himſelf the Taker takes the Prey:

Toſs’d from his Maſter’s Hand he ſoars above,

And chaces thro’ the Clouds the trembling Dove;

Or grapples with the Heron, when on high,

He rends her finny Captives in the Sky.

Go; teach the gen’rous Courſer not to fear,

When the ſhrill Trumpet terrifies the Ear:

In equal Rank to keep or change his Ground;

Tho’ Thouſands fall, and Thunder roars around.

Lybians and Indians, marching to the War,

May ſcorn the fiery Steed, and rolling Car:

Amid E4r 103

Amid the ſwarthy Hoſt aloft appears

A living Bulk, that creſted Turrets bears,

Forward he preſſes on the adverſe Foe;

While the bold Archer deals his Darts below.

Who taught to manage that unweildy Strength?

Or, with the ſinewy Trunk’s enormous Length,

His mounting Rider to his Seat to aid?

Or pierce the thickeſt Legions undiſmay’d

Tho’ in impenetrable Scales array’d?

When Behemoth the ruling Voice obeys:

Q. Curtius Hiſt. of Alexander and Porus. Or from the Field his wounded Lord conveys,

Go; from the Mountain fell the lofty Pine:

Since all the Foreſts on his Brows are thine:

And Reaſon gives, thy Labours to prepare,

The Wedge and Ax, the Compaſſes and Square.

Raiſe the tall Maſt, and rib the ſolid Sides;

Build the ſtout Veſſel that, with Winds and Tides

May ſeek the Regions which the Sea divides;

Or ſteer thy Courſe, where, by the frozen Poles,

Leviathan upon the Ocean rolls;

And the fierce Sea-horſe ſeleeps on icey Shoals.

Tho’ Job xli. he the rattling of thy Shafts deride,

Tho’ he be Sov’reign o’er the Sons of Pride.

When from thy Hand the piercing Barb is thrown

The Monſter trembles, tho’ his Heart be ſtone:

Wounded he roars, and drags the length’ning Line,

And mingled with his Blood he ſpouts the Brine,

Laſh’d by his ample Tail the frothy Surges ſhine:

E4 Then E4v 104

Then to the ſhallow Shores for Safety flies;

While on his Back whole Groves of Lances riſe.

Who to theſe Arts, O Mortal! led thy Way?

To rule the Brutes made thee more wiſe than they,

The Wild to conquer, while the Tame obey?

Or canſt thou doubt that Nature’s golden Law

Once kept ſpontaneous Innocence in Awe?

Tho’ then the Rebel Beaſt refus’d thy Yoak,

When Rebel Man to God his Fealty broke.

What various Life in leſſer Forms we ſee?

Who firſt instructed the laborious Bee,

Not in our Rules of Architecture ſkill’d,

Sexangular her waxen Dome to build,

To lodge her Brood, and hoard her luſcious Store?

Mark!――and the great Geometer adore.

Unweary’d ſhe collects the flow’ry Bloom;

For Man to rifle the nectareous Comb:

With fragrant Herbs to temper in the Bowl,

To cool his Veins and chear his fainting Soul;

Or dire intesſtine Tortures to allay,

The lab’ring Lungs, and Stone’s impetuous Way.

Nor think thy Maker was in Part unkind,

And to minuter Objects left thee blind,

When in the Microſcope thou canſt deſcry,

The Gnat’s ſharp Spear, the Muſcles of a Fly:

Theſe might at Random thy Inquiry Scape;

But there thou may’ſt examine all their Shape.

Those the gay Down of Inſects to behold,

Or Millions crowding in the Plumb’s blue Mold,

Or in the Acorn view the branching Tree;

Wiſer or better doſt thou ſeek to be?

Acknow- E5r 105

Acknowledge him who taught Mankind to try

The curious Uſe of that fictitious Eye.

Look to yon Heav’n above: was that deſign’d

To ſerve thy Wants, or exerciſe thy Mind?

Tho’ that fair Moon, to chear the gloomy Night,

Around thy Globe conveys her borrow’d Light;

Tho’ other Stars, each in his proper Sphere,

Divide thy Days and Nights, thy Month and Year,

Beyond thy Ken remoter Orbits run,

In each a Sysſtem which attends a Sun.

While we look up and gaze and gueſs below

At what we are not privileg’d to know,

How can thy Pride imagine it ſhou’d be

He who rules there ſhou’d caſt an Eye to thee?

Be that confeſs’d; we own his Care the more,

Who taught to find thoſe Worlds unknown before,

Who ſummons each by Name, and numbers all their Store.

Nor is it long ſince Reaſon cou’d invent

An Eye to pierce the diſtant Firmament:

A thouſand Stars diſcloſing to our View,

Or in Appearance or Diſcov’ry new,

But what from them to Mortals can accrue?

Their Influence in a Space, ſo vaſt and void,

Muſt all be diſſipated and deſtroy’d.

What are the Beings that inhabit there?

Or how their Nature ſuited to their Sphere?

Where wou’d that Icarus of Fancy rove,

And then drop headlong from his Flight above?

Ambition! never weep for Worlds unknown;

But learn to be contented with thy own.

E5 Yet E5v 106

Yet theſe are thine; as deſtin’d to conduce

Connected to thy neceſſary Uſe:

As in their Turns they riſe and diſappear,

To point the rural Labours of the Year.

Led by theſe Lights, for Knowledge or for Gain,

Launch the good Ship, and plough the ſpacious Main:

And on whatever Spot by Tempeſt toſt,

Explore thy Diſtance from thy native Coaſt.

This little World, where we pretend to Sway,

One Half, for Ages, undiſcover’d lay:

The Sailor then, the Magnet’s Aid unknown,

And ſcar’d with Monſters of the torrid Zone,

Believ’d the verdant Cape the fartheſt Ground;

And all beyond was loſt in Sea profound,

Or old Atlantis in Oblivion drown’d.

That other Pole, that ſinks beneath our Sight,

They doom’d to Waters or Illum Sub pedibus Styx atra videt. Illic, ut prohibent, aut intempeſta filet nox Semper. Virgil. eternal Night:

Not ſo Columbus; and he judg’d aright.

Sedate, tho’ bold, and reſolute, tho’ wiſe,

Diſtreſs, and Storms., and Envy to deſpiſe,

O’er the wide Waves he led the dauntleſs Crew,

Fame, Wealth, and Empire, all at once in View.

Where other Shores ariſe and Stars appear:

And the fair Croſiers light the Southern Sphere.

Yet Man was there; tho’ rude in Arts like ours,

The ſame in all his Faculties and Pow’rs:

And E6r 107

And with the ſame inventive Wit inſpir’d

To find what his Neceſſity requir’d.

Irregular to Heav’ns more uſual Laws,

Say, whence his Train the fiery Comet draws?

Thro’ what unfathom’d void his Courſe is bound?

Or how to vaniſh in the vaſt Profound?

Let Halley this, or Newton this explain;

And fix his Period to return again:

While the pale Vulgar ſees, with wild Amaze,

The Sword of God, unſheath’d for Vengeance blaze.

Avert that Omen, Heav’n! avert our Guilt:

Enough, alas! of native Blood is ſpilt.

Yet neither they determine, nor preſage:

The Lord of Hoſts commands when War ſhall rage,

To tame the Licence of an impious Age.

A Mind that graſps the habitable Ball,

Aſpires to Heav’n, and ſtrives to meaſure all.

Whether at Objects ſo remote from hence

She gueſs aright, or err with ſpecious Senſe,

Superior Excellence of Man proclaims:

Tho’ oft miſtaking in his glorious Aims.

His boaſted Science by Degrees he gains,

As op’ning Truth rewards his tireſome Pains:

For that acquir’d without the Labour try’d,

Would ſink its Worth and elevate his Pride.

Labour to Man was as his Portion giv’n;

How juſt and how benevolent is Heav’n!

The Soul from ſtupid Indolence to raiſe;

To trace the great Creator’s myſtic Ways.

E6 And E6v 108

Eccleſiaſticus iii. 23. Be not curious in unneceſſary Matters. And much, O Mortal! to thy curious Mind,-

Has Time reveal’d; and much Remains behind:

Leave that to Heav’n, and know thy Search confin’d.

Howe’er important thy Diſcov’ries are,

Another Age demands an equal Share.

Eccleſiaſtes iii. 12. Number, and Weight, and Meaſure to explain,

Can thy ſmall Heart this ample World contain?

Yet there has God infix’d the keen Deſire;

Excites, and not forbids thee to inquire:

A pleaſing Taſk! tho’ none can comprehend

Its firſt Beginning, or its lateſt End.

How well was that Advice thyſelf to know,

Aſcrib’d to Heav’n by Sages long ago!

Thy very Doubt of all theſe wond’rous Things.

From that high Monitor within thee ſprings.

Daughter of Heav’n, my Soul! for ſuch thou art,

Not of material Elements a Part,

On this fair Scene thy preſent Senſe employ:

But raiſe thy nobler Hope to future Joy.

Tho’ Heav’n ſhall vaniſh, and the Stars ſhall fall,

And rolling Flames diſſolve this earthly Ball,

The Juſt in happy Manſions ſhall remain,

While Worlds ſhall periſh, and revive again.

The E7r 109

The three Children in the fiery Furnace.

The proud Chaldean made of fuſile Gold,

A mighty Image of gigantic Mold!

On Dura’s Plain, of ſolid Metal caſt

He rear’d the Frame, immeaſurably vaſt.

Then thro’ the Eaſt he ſent his dread Commands,

To Chiefs and Ancients of the various Lands

Of vaſſal Faith to his imperial Sway;

Or forc’d by right of Conqueſt to obey:

He ſummon’d all; and to the Feaſt reſort

The ſervile Princes, and obſequious Court.

An Herald then: ’tis thus the King commands,

Ye various Nations, Languages, and Lands!

When thro’ the ecchoing Heav’n you hear around

The martial Trumpet and the Cornet ſound,

When ſofter Flutes their Harmony reſpire

And miſcellaneoue Stop of vocal Wire.

Then, humbly proſtrate on the Ground, adore

The regal Image of refulgent Ore.

To him who ſhall preſume to diſobey

’Tis certain Death; and void of all Delay:

That moment ſhall the deſtin’d Wretch expire,

Plung’d in the Furnace of devouring Fire.

The Muſick ſounds, and inſtant at the Call,

O Shame of human Minds! they proſtrate Fall.

With Envy ſtung a fawning Crew drew near:

Officious to invade the Royal Ear.

O E7v 110

O King! they ſaid, whoſe long extended Line—

Of Age and Empire may no Bound confine!

Long in thy Favour have diſtinguiſh’d ſtood,

Three haughty Captives of the Hebrew Blood;

Who now, rebellious to thy high Decree,

With equal Scorn neglect thy Gods and thee,

And diſobey thy Edict to adore

The regal Image of refulgent Ore.

He heard; impetuous Rage and kindling Ire

With frantic Fury all his Soul inſpire:

And, at his Word, the prompt Attendants bring

The pious Brethren to the vengeful King.

And is it thus? as Wrath afforded Way,

And is it thus, he ſtern, began to ſay,

That you my Mandates and my Gods obey?

Was my Decree to only you unknown?

The Symphony unheard by you alone?

Yet, as you may, your former Crime recall;

Before the golden Statue proſtrate fall:

If you perſiſt, ’tis fix’d that you expire,

Plung’d in the Furnace of devouring Fire.

Is there a God who in the fatal Hour

Can give Aſſiſtance, or elude my Pow’r?

Unterrify’d the Brethren thus rejoin’d,

Receive the Anſwer of a conſtant Mind;

Our Deity can, if his Will require,

Extend his Hand to ſave us from the Fire:

The Pow’r of him from whom thy Empire ſprings,

In our Defence can over-rule the King’s.

But be it as befalls; we fix’d remain

Nor ſerve thy Gods: Thy Menaces are vain.

The E8r 111

The Monarch frown’d; and dreadful to behold,

With alter’d Looks his flaſhing Eyes he roll’d.

On ſevenfold Heaps he bad to build the Pyre;

And with Bitumen to foment the Fire:

Then that the Leaders of his warlike Bands

In Manacles ſhou’d link the Hebrews Hands.

The willing Guards the ſtern Beheſt obey,

They bound the Youths, and in their rich Array

And bright Tyars, amid the Flames they threw,

While all around the ruddy Sparkles flew.

The rapid Blaze forth from the Furnace pours,

And all the dire Aſſiſtants it devours:

In vain for Aid they call, in vain they fly,

And raiſe to Heav’n an unavailing Cry.

Leſs ſwift the Flood, increas’d with wintry Rain,

O’erflows its Banks, and deluges the Plain:

When Tillage, Flocks, and Swains at once it ſweeps,

And rolls the Ruin to the gulphy Deeps.

But to the three, amid ſurrounding Flame,

On Pennons Expedite an Angel came:

All manifeſt he ſtood, of Form divine;

Not like the Earth-born Sons of mortal Line.

In his Deſcent an humid Cloud he drew,

And thro’ the Furnace ſcatter’d cooling Dew:

His ſhady Wings the ſcorching Heat repel,

And from the Captives Limbs the Shackles fell.

At large they walk, and triumph o’er the Fire;

Untouch’d their Hair, un-injur’d their Attire:

Inviolate their grateful Voice they raiſe;

And ſing, in choral Verſe their Maker’s praiſe

2 O E8v 112

O all ye Beings! which when Time was young,

From the divine productive fiat ſprung:

Bleſs ye the Lord, and celebrate his Praiſe;

His Glories over all for ever raiſe.

Ye Angels! delegated from above,

To act his Vengeance of declare his Love:


Ye azure Fields! thro’ whoſe immenſe Expanſe

Revolving Orbs complete their myſtic Dance:


Ye Waters! whoſe circumfluous Treſures lye

Above the Vaults of our inferior Sky:


Ye who excell in Might and Virtue moſt

Ye Hierarchs of the celestial Hoſt!


Thou, Sun, the Fountain of diffuſive Light!

And thou the ſilver Planet of the Night!


Ye Stars! who circle thro’ th’ ethereal Space;

Ye who for ever keep your deſtin’d Place:


Ye E9r 113

Ye Show’rs! which on the Earth your Drops diffuſe;

Ye Exhalations, which return in Dews:


Ye Winds! which thro’ the languid Air reſpire,

Or ſpeak in Tempeſts your Creator’s Ire:


Ye Flames! which with deſtructive Fury glow;

And you to which congenial Heat we owe:


Ye wintry Months! unchearful and ſevere,

And thou, the brighter Solſtice of the Year:


Ye Dews! that owe to humid Miſts your Birth;

Ye hoary Froſts that whiten all the Earth:


Ye that in ſolid Chains the Waters hold!

Ye Particles of penetrating cold:


Ye Waters in thoſe icey Fetters bound!

Ye Snows whoſe ſilver Fleece beſpreads the Ground!


Ye Revolutions of alternate Night!

Ye Revolutions of diurnal Light!


Thou E9v 114

Thou Light, as early born as Nature’s Prime!

Thou Darkneſs, ancient ere the Birth of Time!


Ye Lightnings, waving with a dreadful glare!

Ye Clouds, ſuſpended on the liquid Air:


And thou terreſtrial Ball to theſe reply;

With grateful Voice to bleſs the Deity:

Do thou combine to celebrate his Praiſe;

His Glories over all for ever raiſe.

Ye mountain Steeps! that emulate the Skies!

Hills that with humbler Elevation riſe!


Ye Vegetables! that with ſpringing Green

Enrich, and beautify the rural Scene:


Ye Springs! whoſe ſubterranean Cells contain

Collected Humor or pervading Rain:


Ye mighty Oceans! which the World divide;

Ye Rivers! which devolve an uſeful Tyde:


Enormous Whales! who Roll upon the Main;

And all who glide along the watry Plain:


Ye E10r 115

Ye Wanderers! whom plumy Pennons bear

Aloft, in Regions of the trackleſs Air:


Ye Savages of Earth! inur’d to prey;

Ye Herds, who the Command of Man obey:


Ye whom the wiſe Creator of the whole

Has form’d erect, and rational of Soul:


Ye Tribes! who ſever’d from the Race of Earth,

From ancient Iſrael derive your Birth:


Ye who, deſcended from the prieſtly Line,

Are ever deſtin’d to attend his Shrine:


Ye Votaries! whoſe Piety of Mind

Is to the Service of the Lord reſign’d:


Ye Spirits of the Juſt! ye Souls who paſt

Thro’ mortal Toils to Happineſs at laſt:


Ye virtuous Hearts! where pure Religion ſways

And meek Humility her Laws obeys:


And E10v 116

And you, the three, whom dauntleſs Zeal inſpires

To dare the Monarch’s Frown and Rage of Fires!

Bleſs ye the Lord and celebrate his Praiſe;

His Glories over all for ever raiſe.

On Lady Bridgwater’s Picture,

By Mr. Jervas. 17131713.

Such flowing Lines, and ſuch a lovely Saint!

So might a Raphael a Cecilia paint.

Almoſt the Eye impoſes on the Ear;

Her Fingers ſeem to move, and we to hear:

While two young Angel Forms ſtand liſt’ning by;

And wait with upward Eyes her Harmony.

No Strength of Fancy, no Succeſs of Art,

O Jervas! this Idea cou’d impart:

Thy Pencil other Beauties may command,

But Churchill’s Eyes inſtruct the Maſter’s Hand.

Cu- E11r 117


Nor wiſh, nor fondly ſeek to know

What Fate denies to human Kind:

Misfortunes more ſevere wou’d grow,

If what we follow we ſhould find.

That Origin of being curſt,

Does with the Sex’s Frailty ſuit:

And wretched Man was ruin’d firſt

When Woman pull’d the tempting Fruit.

How raſhly ſhe for Knowledge fought?

The fatal Error chains us ſtill,

How dear our gen’ral Mother bought

The Knowledge of her certain Ill!

In Grace to us has Heav’ns Decree

Conceal’d from Sight Events to come:

While, by our vain Inquiries, we

Anticipate the dreaded Doom

If ſilent Campbell cou’d to View

The future Scenes of Time unfold;

Were his prophetic Fables true,

As Delphian Oracles of old:

By E11v 118

By myſtic Arts and impious Spells,

In vain, alas! wou’d you explore,

What Fate retains in gloomy Cells;

What Love and Life have yet in Store.

Our Diſappointment gives us Pain,

If ’tis impoſſible to know.

But what does their Diſcov’ry gain,

Who feel the Wound before the Blow?

Misfortune, Pain, and Death at laſt

’Tis certain all muſt undergo:

Why ſhou’d we ſingly long to taſte,

The dire Ingredients of our Woe?

On the Thunder-Storm, 1726-06June 1726.

In Alluſion to Horace

Parcus Deorum cultor

What Magazines of Sulphur in the Sky,

What Stores of Flame and crackling Nitre lye,

When o’er our Heads the ſable Clouds impend,

And Burſts of Thunder all the Concave rend;

When Foreſts, Mortals, and the lofty Spires

Of ſacred Temples feel the darted Fires,

Ye E12r 119

Ye ſceptic Wits, the latent Cauſe contend:

Till with the World the Controverſy end:

Diſpute th’ Effect of an almighty Hand,

Yet inly tremble at the forky Brand:

No Art your conſcious Terrors can remove,

When God majeſtic thunders from above.

But when again he calms the troubled Sky

Secure to Cauſes natural you fly:

The formidable Voice of Heaven deſpiſe;

And think yourſelves the only brave and wiſe.

Miſtaken Fools! ’twas he aſſign’d to all

That univerſal Law we Nature call.

He bad ſulphureous Particles aſpire,

To float in Air, and agitate to Fire;

He guides their Fury and directs the Blow,

That menaces the guilty World below.

At his Command the livid Flames are hurl’d,

Trembles the ſolid Baſis of the World;

Black Smoak and ruddy Fire together roll

From Ætna’s Top, and Rocks beneath the Pole:

The central Deep refunds its wat’ry Stores;

And with redoubled Rage the vaſt Atlantic roars.

Nor only Matter his Decrees obeys;

The various Turns of human Kind he ſways:

No giddy Chance controuls our earthly Ball,

By him alternate Empires riſe or fall;

’Tis his alone or to depoſe or crown,

To raiſe the Mean, or bring the Lofty down.

The E12v 120

The Lord’s Prayer.

Parent of all! who doſt in Heav’n reſide,

Thy venerable Name be ſanctify’d:

O’er all the Univerſe advance thy Sway;

While, like thy Angels we, thy Will obey.

The conſtant Suſtenance of Life beſtow;

And pardon us, as we forgive a Foe:

Expoſe us not to Trials; but from Ill

In thy propitious Care defend us ſtill.

No Term of Age thy Empire ſhall confine,

And Pow’r and Majeſty are ever thine.

Sacred Ode.

Heav’nly Muſe! my Soul inſpire,

Tune my Voice, and ſtring my Lyre:

Higher yet, and yet more high

Lift the mutual Harmony.

Wake me from deluſive Dreams;

Vain imaginary Themes:

Lift my Voice to him above;

Wiſdom, Word, and heav’nly Love.

How ineffable thy Birth?

Progeny of Heav’n and Earth!

2 God F1r 121

God e’er Time his Courſe began;

In his deſtin’d Period Man.

Offspring of a ſpotleſs Maid;

Infant in a Manger lay’d;

Welcom’d by angelic Strains;

Publiſh’d to the harmleſs Swains.

Uſher’d by a new-born Star;

Sought by Sages from afar.

By the Tyrant’s Rage explor’d;

Reſcu’d from the fatal Sword:

Nouriſh’d on the Banks of Nile;

Son recall’d from that Exile.

Heir of David’s ancient Throne;

Public Victim to atone:

Paſchal Lamb and heav’nly Bread,

Food by which our Souls are fed.

King by ſervile Scourges torn,

Piercing Nails, and pointed Thorn;

Sol his frighted Beams withdrew,

Struck with Horror at the View:

Cou’d the Sun thy Suff’rings ſee,

And not ſympathize with thee;

Genuine Light! who kindled his

Riſing from the dark Abyſs.

Nature to her Centre ſhook;

Ghoſts their former Bodies took:

Torn the Veil to common Eyes

Leaves the naked Myſteries.

Was it not enough he dy’d?

Wounds on Wounds are multiply’d?

Can the Dead be doubly ſlain?

Are they ſenſible of Pain?

F Iſſues F1v 122

Iſſues from his bleeding Side

Water with the vital Tide:

That our ſcarlet Sins to lave;

This to expiate and to ſave.

Scene of Death, O! when to end?

See! his mournful Friends attend,

In the ſilent Grave to lay

Death! thy unreſiſting Prey.

Boaſt thy Triumph, Death! undone

By the Conqueſt thou haſt won.

Barr’d are all thy Gates in vain;

He ſhall burſt the Bars again:

As the Sun in Weſtern Skies

Sets, but only ſets to riſe,

He reſumes, and he alone

Voluntary Life laid down.

Now he mounts again on high

Glorious in his Victory:

Mortal Eyes purſue his Flight,

Loft amid the Fields of Light:

Angels wait him on the Wing:

Hark! alternate how they ſing,

Open on your Hinges fly,

Azure Portals of the Sky!

To the King of Majeſty.

Horace F2r 123

Horace to Leuconoe.

No! no! Leuconoe! ſeek no more

What reſts for thee or me in Store;

’Tis Guilt the future to explore:

The vain Chaldean’s Art to try;

For caſting thy Nativity.

’Tis better learn the worſt to bear:

Whether we gain another Year;

Or this the laſt which ſhall be given

At the determin’d Will of Heav’n.

Be wiſe; and pierce the gen’rous Wine:

And all thy diſtant Hopes reſign;

When but a Moment can be thine.

And what can envious Time afford,

Which flies while we pronounce the Word?

Then ſeize the preſent while you may;

Nor truſt To-morrow for a Day.

Pars minima eſt ipſa puella ſui.

This Perſpective may teach your Eyes

To ſee your Miſtreſs ſet or riſe;

When you ſurprize her late or ſoon,

Unlike the Luſtre of her Noon:

F2 What F2v 124

What Mouſe thus arches o’er her Eyes,

Her Hair what jetty Tincture dyes;

What Cream her poliſh’d Forehead ſleeks,

And what Vermilion ſtains her Cheeks.

Now wou’d not this convince a Lover

That Beauty is a Cheat all over?

Her Teeth, ſo far I own is right,

Are real Iv’ry, good and white.

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 15.

Jam pauca aratro jugera.

We now no longer can allow,

Superfluous Acres to the Plow:

As we improve our Taſte:

We turn them to fantaſtic Scenes,

Exotics all, and Ever-greens,

In various Order caſt.

’Tis now a Crime for Trees to bear,

The Plum, the Apple, and the Pear

Are rooted from the Ground:

While Myrtles here their Buds diſcloſe;

And there, to entertain the Noſe,

The Orange blooms around.

Be- F3r 125

Behold our airy Palaces!

Our Paleſtrina and Farneſe!

How we in Freſco breath!

Who would not think the lofty Dome

Was lifted all entire from Rome,

To Wanſted or Blackheath?

Strong ſolid Buildings warm and plain,

Our Anceſtors could entertain

An hoſpitable Race:

Queen Beſs with humbler was content,

More frugally magnificent,

Almoſt upon the Place.

If ever Coſt or Art they ſhow’d,

Such as Antiquity beſtow’d

’Twas to the Public given:

Then let us imitate our Sires;

And finiſh the majeſtic Spires

That ſlowly riſe to Heav’n.

The Coquette and Prude.

The vain Coquette you ſoon may know;

The perfect Tally to the Beau:

Ambitious all the Sex to pleaſe,

She likes and leaves with equal Eaſe.

F3 With F3v 126

With mimic Airs, and Dreſs deſign’d

At nothing leſs than all Mankind,

She rolls her Eyes alike on all;

At Court, or Theatre, or Ball.

Her Mind important Projects fill;

To make a Party at Quadrille:

A Ticket when Fauſtina ſings;

And ſuch conſiderable Things.

Of what is new, and what is gay,

Is all ſhe has to think or ſay:

She only fears ſome rural Clown

Should drag her from the charming Town.

At laſt the Youth obtains her Grace,

Whoſe Merit is the fineſt Lace:

Who dreſſes alamode de France;

And bows――with perfect Complaiſance.

Another, more reſerv’d or rude,

Aſſumes the Conduct of a Prude:

To odious Man ſo grave and ſhy

She ſcarce can give him a Reply.

Of vaſt Diſcretion to reprove

That deſpicable Foible Love:

She wonders Girls are fond or frail;

And takes a virtuous Pride to rail.

In Company ſhou’d ſhe be gay,

What the cenſorious World wou’d ſay?

But gives herſelf exceſſive Airs

Of edifying Zeal at Pray’rs.

She means to act the prudent Part;

And ſuffer none to touch her Heart:

Inſenſible F4r 127

Inſenſible, as ſhe pretends;

Yet ſlave to mercenary Ends.

To Terms like theſe if native Wit

And conſcious Virtue muſt ſubmit,

What Motive is there to compell

A Milk-Maid to commence a Belle!

The Monument.

In vain the ſtately Monument you raiſe,

Inſcrib’d with pompous Epitaphs of Praiſe:

By waſte of Time, or ſacrilege o’erthrown,

A nameleſs Ruin ſhall remain alone.

Let ſervile Poets, in a fawning Strain,

Applaud the Mighty, and delude the vain:

Let curious Art inſpire the breathing Buſt;

And marble Urns enſhrine the mould’ring Duſt.

Can theſe, alas! an after Being buy?

Or raiſe the Man above Mortality?

May I, in Death that uſeleſs Pride reſign;

The humble Surface of the Earth be mine:

The Hand which made can recollect the Frame,

Without the Guidance of a Stone or Name.

F4 From F4v 128

From Owen’s Epigrams.

Frigidus ardentes intravit Nilus ocellos

Dum cor Ætnæo carpitur igne meum:

Nec tantus fluvio lacrymarum exſtinguitur ardor,

Nec tanti fletus flumina ficcat amor.

Sic, fibi diſcordes, exercent vim tamen ambo,

In me concordes, ignis et unda ſuam.

While Nile diffuſes from my ſtreaming Eyes,

Love to my Heart of Ætnæan Fire ſupplies;

Nor can the copious Floods his Ardor tame;

Nor are they waſted by the raging Flame.

The jarring Elements the Wave and Fire,

Thus with united Force in me conſpire.

On the Death of Sir Isaac Newton.

’Tis now the Night thy pious Friends entruſt

To ſacred Earth thy venerable Duſt:

By Nature doom’d maturely to expire;

If Life or Fame can ſatiate the Deſire.

Immortal and ſecure thy Name remains,

Which ſcarce the habitable World contains.

Whether F5r 129

Whether thou did’ſt the levell’d Tube apply,

To bring the Planets to thy ſearching Eye:

Or rather thro’ the Heav’ns thy Spirit flew,

To trace their Motions with a nearer View;

What Force their deſtin’d Line obliquely bends,

And what in vacuous Space their Weight ſuſpends.

Or to deſcribe how this terreſtrial Ball,

Where Man, as in himſelf, has cent’red all,

And doom’d it ever to Repoſe profound,

Inceſſant finiſhes its ample Round

Of annual Courſe: Or to the Morning Ray

Obverts its Front; or wheels to fly the Day.

To calculate how diſtant we admire,

Or how enjoy remote the ſolar Fire,

Thy Soul th’Abyſs of Numbers could explore:

Tho’ they, like Hydra, multiply their Store.

Thy Mind, enlarg’d by Nature to compute

Her vaſteſt Work, cou’d trace the moſt minute.

Alike exact to penetrate the Ways

Of ſubtile Light, and fine æthereal Rays:

What Obſtacle compels them, as they paſs,

To march diverted thro’ the pervious Glaſs;

What various Hues the lucid Pencils paint,

How deep or glaring ſoften into faint;

By what Degrees their kindred Shades unite,

And how their equal Mixture ſpreads a White.

Sicilia now, and Samos ſtrive in vain

With Britain bounded by the ambient Main.

Of ſolid Rocks on ſhatter’d Navies hurl’d,

And fancy’d Engines to remove the World,

Of pious Hecatombs on Altars lay’d,

When the diſcover’d Truth the Search repay’d

F5 Much F5v 130

Much have we heard, andſomething we believ’d;

But ſee the Wonders by thyſelf atchiev’d.

Bacon and Boyle thy Triumphs fore-run,

As Phoſphor riſes to precade the Sun:

Nor ſhall our Age or Iſle reſign the Praiſe

To Greece, for Sages born in ancient Days.

Soon ſhall the marble Monument ariſe,

And Newton’s honour’d Name attract our Eyes:

The finiſh’d Buff, in curious Sculpture wrought;

Shall ſeem to breath, alone abſorpt in Thought.

When fading Letters vaniſh from the Wall,

And when the lofty Pile itſelf ſhall fall,

Shou’d waſting Age, and Barbariſm conſpire

To ſink the Dome, or ſacrilegious Fire,

Some future Cicero, in Times to come

Shall reſcue from Neglect and Archimedes’ Tomb.

To Dr. James Sherard, M.D.

On the Hortus Elthamenſis.

The wiſeſt Man, the nobleſt Theme to chooſe,

On Trees and Plants employ’d his royal Muſe:

A Subject worthy Solomon to ſing;

To ſute the Sage, the Poet, and the King.

Bear me, O Muſe! where Sherard dar’d to tread

By ſacred Love of Vegetables led.

Where F6r 131

Where Athos lifts his ſolitary Brow,

Or where Olympus views the Clouds below:

Or Lebanon in nobler Song renown’d,

With everlaſting Snows and Cedars crown’d;

To paint in Verſe the wild majeſtic Scenes,

And ſhade their vaſt Variety of Greens.

May faireſt Flow’rs of everlaſting Bloom

And freſheſt Verdure ſtill adorn his Tomb,

Who on his native Ifis has beſtow’d

The Shades where Ganges and Euphrates flow’d.

The Laurel, Palm, and every ſacred Tree

Are his; but yet divided ſtill with thee:

In thy Receſs ſhall all the Muſes rove;

And Eltham’s Gardens vye with Plato’s Grove.

Winter Song.

Ask me no more, my Truth to prove,

What I wou’d ſuffer for my Love:

With thee I wou’d in Exile go,

To Regions of eternal Snow:

O’er Floods by ſolid Ice confin’d;

Thro’ Foreſt bare with Northern Wind:

While all around my Eyes I caſt,

Where all is wild, and all is waſte.

If there the tim’rous Stag you chace,

Or rouze to fight a fiercer Race,

F6 Undaunted F6v 132

Undaunted I thy Arms wou’d bear;

And give thy Hand the Hunter’s Spear.

When the low Sun withdraws his Light,

And menaces an half Year’s Night,

The conſcious Moon, and Stars above,

Shall guide me with my wand’ring Love.

Beneath the Mountain’s hollow Brow,

Or in its rocky Cells below,

Thy rural Feaſt I wou’d provide;

Nor envy Palaces their Pride.

The ſofteſt Moſs ſhou’d dreſs thy Bed,

With Savage Spoils about thee ſpread:

While faithful Love the Watch ſhould keep,

To baniſh Danger from thy Sleep.

The Rose.

Set by Dr. Boyce.

Beneath my Feet when Flora caſt

Her choiceſt Sweets of various Hue,

Their Charms, unheeded as I paſt,

Nor chear’d my Senſe, nor took my View.

I choſe, neglecting all the Reſt,

The Provence Roſe too fully blown:

I lodg’d it in my Virgin Breaſt,

It droop’d, alas! and dy’d too ſoon.

This F7r 133

This gentle Sigh, this Rain of Eyes,

Thy Beauty never can recall:

’Tis thus that all Perfection flies;

And Love and Life muſt fade and fall.

From Horace, Lib. I. Ode 38.

Perſicos odi, puer, Apparatus.


I Hate, my Boy! the Perſian Pride;

Eternal Greens in Garlands ty’d:

And for the Roſe, thy Search forbear,

To crop the lateſt of the Year.


To ſimple Myrtle ſtand confin’d,

’Tis fit the Servants Brows to bind;

’Tis fit the Maſters Brows to twine,

Who drinks beneath the ſhady Vine.

Song F7v 134


Set by Mr. Howard.


How happy is the Maid

That lives a rural Life!

By no falſe Views betray’d

To know domeſtic Strife.

No Paſſion ſways her Mind;

No Wiſhes to be great:

To humble Hopes confin’d

She shuns the flatt’ring Bait.


Her Soul with calm Diſdain,

Above the Pomp of Pride,

Beholds the Rich and Vain

In gilded Fetters ty’d:

While Titles, Wealth and Pow’r,

The gaudy Scene diſplay;

And Pageants of an Hour

In Darkneſs glide away.


But if ſome gentle Boy

Her faithful Boſom ſhare,

He doubles all her Joy,

And leſſens all her Care:

2 Their F8r 135

Their Moments on the Wing

The mutual Bliſs improve,

And give perpetual Spring

To Virtue, Truth, and Love.

On Shakespear’s Monument.

Old Homer’s fancy’d Face, a Form unknown,

Survives in breathing Braſs, or Parian Stone:

While of the Mind ſuch Images remain,

We wiſh to raiſe the honour’d Shade again;

Immortal Wit compels us to admire

The Relique, reſcu’d from devouring Fire.

Such Shakeſpear was; from hence Invention took

The ſtudious Poſture, and the piercing Look.

He, nobly bold, diſdain’d the Bounds of Art;

And ſpoke the native Dictates of the Heart:

Cou’d paint the Softneſs of th’ enamour’d Maid,

The jealous Lover to his Rage betray’d;

Cou’d trace the Paſſions to their ſecret Springs,

The Pride of Heroes and the Wrongs of Kings;

The Murth’rer’s Guilt; and whiſper in the Ear

What dire Ambition trembles but to hear.

Fairies and Ghoſts obey’d his magic Wand;

And with new Beings fill’d an unknown Land:

Ev’n then he taught the viſionary Throng

With uſeful Truth to moralize the Song.

Ye F8v 136

Ye Kings who once our ancient Sceptre ſway’d!

Tho’ here in Duſt your ſacred Heads are lay’d,

Afford the Poet’s Monument a Room,

Whoſe Muſe recalls you from the ſilent Tomb.

At her Command majeſtic each appears,

To claim the loyal Tribute of our Tears:

The Waſte of civil Fury to diſcloſe,

Their mighty Triumphs and their mighty Woes.

When Princes fall, too great to fall alone,

We weep thoſe Ills our Anceſtors have done.

Such was the Bard; true to his Country’s Cauſe,

He ſcorn’d to give ſucceſful Vice Applauſe.

Such may he ſtill remain, thro’ ev’ry Age,

With Patriot Virtue to inſpire the Stage.

There is no genuine Picture of Shakeſpear. That called his was taken long after his Death from a Perſon ſuppoſed extremely like him; at the Direction of Sir Thomas Clarges.

To Mr. Handell.

The Sounds which vain unmeaning Accents bear

May ſtrike the Senſe and play upon the Ear:

In youthful Breaſts inſpire a tranſient Flame;

Then vaniſh in the Void from whence they came.

But F9r 137

But when juſt Reaſon animates the Song,

With lofty Style, in Numbers ſmooth and ſtrong,

Such as young Ammon’s Paſſions cou’d controul,

Or chear the Gloom of Saul’s diſtemper’d Soul;

To theſe the Goddeſs Muſe ſhall tune her Voice:

For then the Muſe directs the Maſter’s Choice.

Such Themes are ſuited to the Hero’s Mind:

But rural Lays have Charms for all Mankind.

Whether the Poet paints the native Scene,

Or calls to trip it on the level Green:

Or leads the Wand’rer by the Moon along,

While the ſweet Chauntreſs tunes her Even-Song:

The ſerious Mind with ſudden Rapture glows;

The Gazer ſinks into ſedate Repoſe:

And each in Silence doubts, if more to praiſe

The Pow’r of Handell’s Notes, or Milton’s Lays.

One Labour yet, great Artiſt! we require;

And worthy thine, as worthy Milton’s Lyre;

In Sounds adapted to his Verſe to tell

How, with his Foes, the Hebrew Champion fell:

To all invincible in Force and Mind,

But to the fatal Fraud of Womankind.

To others point his Error, and his Doom;

And from the Temple’s Ruins raiſe his Tomb.

To F9v 138

To Mrs. Rokeby, Junior, At Arthingworth.

Inviſible, and unconfin’d by Place,

Your rural Haunts the Heav’n born Muſe can trace:

Where ſmiling Love attends the beautous Bride,

And the calm Hours in golden Circles glide

Remote from Tumult, Avarice and Pride.

Her airy Steps purſue where’er you rove;

Aſcend the Hill or range around the Grove:

Where thro’ the ſylvan Glades her View ſhe tires,

To count the diſtant Vills and riſing Spires.

There the firſt Object that your Eyes command,

Thro’ Viſtas planted by a Father’s Hand,

Is the fair Proſpect of paternal Land.

For Wealth let others try the faithleſs Main;

More certain are the Labours of the Swain:

For you this Verdure ſprings, this Harveſt grows;

And theſe tall Oaks their ſpacious Arches cloſe.

Or now repoſing in the ruſtic Cell,

Or in the Bow’r of lonely Philomel,

Your own ſoft Voice aſſiſts the Lover’s String,

And all the Woods with gay Vertumnus ring.

All ſhapes to pleaſe the am’rous Youth had try’d;

Till with his own the Captive Nymph comply’d:

So may thyſelf be bleſs’d; and ſo thy Grove,

Where conſcious Virtue dwells, and conſtant Love.

In F10r 139

In Memory of Mrs. Eliz. Bridges, Ob. 1745-12-01Dec. 1, 1745, Ætat. 88.

If copious Wealth, enjoy’d to full Content,

Or length of Days in Peace and Honour ſpent,

Is all the anxious Heart of Man can crave,

Yet here they ceaſe; and vaniſh in the Grave:

Behold the ſacred Stone where Bridges lies;

But ſpare your Tears, for Virtue never dies.

The viſionary Veſtals of the Cell

In Solitude and in Oblivion dwell:

But Heav’n to her a nobler Sphere aſſign’d,

A Virgin Life, with a maternal Mind;

Nor was the Bleſſing to her Blood confin’d.

Her Heart, enlarg’d beyond a private Care,

To each Unhappy gave a gen’rous Share;

Her elevated Mind Religion ſway’d,

Its Rites ſhe reverenc’d, and its Laws obey’d;

Hence each good Work its genuine Luſtre drew,

Inſtructing Earth, and pointing Heav’n to View.

May no rude Age of Sacrilege return

To raze thy Tomb, or violate thy Urn;

But reſt in Peace, till the tremendous Call

Shall, from their ſilent Manſion, ſummon all.

When the great Maſter all Mankind repays;

And crowns the Bounteous with diſtinguiſh’d Rays.

April, F10v 140

1747-04-18April 18, 1747.

Proud Monuments of Art! renown’d of old

Rais’d to the Clouds above, and roof’d with Gold,

Now vaniſh’d all! as deſtin’d to expire

By hoſtile Rage, or Ammon’s wanton Fire:

Yet happy you! for each enjoy’d its Date;

And ſhar’d at laſt a memorable Fate.

The ſhort-liv’d Pile which Vanity cou’d raiſe

Is but coeval with the Maſter’s Days,

Turn’d by the Plow, what cou’d a Foe do more!

Where ſhall we find the teſſelated Floor?

While ſome induſtrious Swain, whoſe painful Hand

With riſing Harveſt better decks the Land,

To the bewilder’d Traveller ſhall call

Here C―― was; or here was ――.

When F11r 141

When upright Rokeby In the Time of Edward the IId the Governors of Ireland took Meat for their Men and Horſes, and extorted Money, without making any Satisfaction: But Sir Thomas Rokeby, who in the thirty-firſt Year of Edward the IIId was the ſecond Time made Juſticiary of Ireland ſaid, that he would eat and drink out of wooden Veſſels and pay Gold and Silver for his Meat, Cloaths, and Servants. Cambden’sAnnals of Ireland. ſcorn’d the ſhining Pelf,

Pay’d Gold, but eat in Wood or Tin himſelf,

When Gaſcoigne Sir William Gaſcoigne, Lord Chief Juſtice in the Reign of Henry the IVth, committed to Priſon Henry Prince of Wales, afterwards King Henry the Fifth, for ſtriking him on the King’s Bench. Hiſt. of Eng. from authentic Records. taught a Prince to know the Law,

And Virtue kept the Royal Rake in Awe;

When we have Precedents like theſe at Home,

Keep thy Fabricius and thy Cato, Rome.

Ma- F11v 142


Et quæ dempſiſtis vitæ date tempora famæ. Ovid.
Macham, an Engliſhman, whom a French Hiſtorian or Noveliſt ſtiles Sir Robert, having carried off by Sea a Lady, whoſe Name other Writers ſay he honourably concealed, but the Frenchman has chriſtened Anne D’Arſet, we may ſuppoſe he intends D’Arcy, was driven by Storms to the Iſland afterward from its vaſt Foreſts called Madeira. She died there ſoon after her Arrival, very probably of the Fatigue, and was buried by her Lover; who fixed a Table with an Inſcription, and is ſaid to have built a Chapel of Boards over her Tomb. Whether he got off with his Companions to Barbary, or died on the Iſland is uncertain; but as Poetry has a Right to prefer the agreeable to the probable, I have followed the French Author farther in Verſe than I think myſelf bound to believe him in Proſe. The whole Story is contained in few Words. The Fate of two unfortunate Engliſh Lovers led the Portugueſe to diſcover an Iſland, which we may reaſonably judge one of the Fortunate, where the Ancient placed their Elyſium.

Madeira to Mariana.

Ye lofty Woods! ye Rocks of rugged Stone!

Ye falling Streams! attend a Lover’s Moan!

Ye F12r 143

Ye whiſp’ring Winds! your gentle Breath reſtrain;

Be dumb ye Murmurs of the circling Main!

For never Rocks, or Woods, or Streams, or Vale,

Or rolling Ocean, heard ſo ſad a Tale.

By Birth diſtinguiſh’d from the vulgar Herd,

Of Anceſtors for Martial Worth preferr’d

I ſprung: To emulate their Deeds I ſtrove;

Excited much by Fame, and more by Love.

My Youth, inur’d to Arms, was ſpent in vain

For royal Edward on the Gallic Plain:

For what avails Succeſs, if Fate denies

The beauteous Bride, the ſole expected Prize?

My hated Rival, in my Abſence bold,

Had brib’d her Friends with Grandeur and with Gold;

And tho’ reluctant, and by Force compell’d,

Her Vows, extorted and her Charms with-held.

O! periſh all whom Avarice can buy

To int’reſt Heav’n in ſolemn Perjury!

To feel my Wrongs too ſwiftly I return,

And with a Soldier’s juſt Reſentment burn:

The baſe Ingratitude of Courts upbraid,

In Terms by Sycophants to Court convey’d.

For this diſhonour’d and for this confin’d,

Both Love and Vengeance fire the manly Mind:

But now releas’d, my Paſſion I reſtrain,

Or Love and Vengeance had alike been vain:

Nor cou’d my Heart its elder Claim reſign;

The Vows he forc’d had long before been mine:

Determin’d thus to re’aſſert her Charms,

I ſeiz’d, and bore her from my Rival’s Arms.

At F12v 144

At firſt ſhe fainted, with a female Fear;

But ſoon recover’d when ſhe ſaw me near:

For Love was preſent, and that Fear control’d;

And Women hope Protection from the Bold.

A well built Bark attended near the Shore,

Where meeting Avon and Sabrina roar:

With fav’ring Gales to waft us o’er the Main

In Hope ſome friendly Port of France to gain.

But Winds ariſe, Air thunders, Ocean ſwells:

And my ſad Soul the future Woe foretells.

Heav’n was my Foe; I now behold too late

My raſh Attempt, and dread impending Fate:

Yet, if I fear, I fear for her alone;

Or for the Friends my Folly had undone.

What cou’d I do to chear the lab’ring Band?

The frighted Fair had all my Soul unman’d.

Now in my Breaſt her faded Cheek ſhe hides,

And mingling Tears deſcend in ſilent Tides:

In mutual Murmurs now too late I blame

My daring Rapine; ſhe abſolves my Flame,

The ſame our Pa?ſion, and our Fate the ſame.

Now Days and Nights without Diſtinction paſt,

And all was Darkneſs o’er the wat’ry Waſte;

Till driven beyond old Europe’s utmoſt Bound,

With only Skies above, and Ocean round,

The Sun burſt forth; and as the Gloom diſpell’d,

A low-hung Cloud at Diſtance we beheld:

And as the Day the wide Horizon clears,

Now to our dubious Eyes an Iſle appears,

Which high to Heav’n her ſylvan Summit rears.

And now, perhaps as ſome Enchantment leads,

Beyond our View the fancy’d Iſle recedes.

2 The G1r 145

The Sailors ply their wretched Lives to ſave;

Or Fate conducts us to a certain Grave.

And now my Mates obtain the wiſh’d for Ground,

Where the ſteep Shore is laſh’d with Sea profound:

Grove above Grove aſcends in gradual Scenes,

And golden Apples glitter thro’ the Greens;

There from the Rocks the guſhing Torrents flow,

To wind in Mazes thro’ the Vale below.

Of ſavage Beaſts they found no direful Den;

No Cattle, Works of Art, or Steps of Men:

But, void of Fear, the Birds of ſweeteſt Song,

And Doves re-murmur’d all the Cliffs along.

The fertile Climate and the fragrant Air

Might baniſh any Sadneſs but Deſpair.

The reſt entranc’d the bliſsful Seat ſurvey’d,

While from the Bark I bore the dear bought Maid:

Her tender Frame no longer cou’d ſuſtain

The boiſt’rous Blaſt, and Dangers of the Main,

However Love exalts the gen’rous Mind,

Yet Woman’s feeble Force muſt lag behind.

The Toils and Dangers of the Seas o’ercome,

An unknown World muſt be her only Home.

While my ſad Heart was pierc’d with equal Woe

I need myſelf the Comfort I beſtow.

What ſaid I not her flowing Tears to ſtay?

Beneath a ſpreading Cedar as we lay.

No more thy Country to thy Thought recall;

Or former Friends: in me behold them all.

When I for thee the bold Adventure try’d

Love was my Friend, and Fortune was my Guide:

The now relenting Pow’rs that rule above,

And perſecuted once, indulge our Love;

G Sav’d G1v 146

Sav’d from yon Ocean, and together thrown,

In happy exile on a World unknown.

Short was the Triumph; for the Winds again

Drove back the ſhatter’d Pinnace to the Main:

Wide o’er the Waves ſhe vaniſh’d from our View;

With all the Fates of the remaining Crew.

But when the Maid beheld the Veſſel toſt,

Beyond our Ken, and Hope itſelf was loſt,

For ever now to Sea-girt Rocks confin’d,

Far from the ſweet Converſe of Humankind;

A while ſhe like a Statue fix’d remains,

With cold Deſpair that freezes in her Veins:

Then pale and lifeleſs in my Arms ſhe falls,

’Till my known Voice her flying Soul recalls.

What Aid in Solitude cou’d I impart?

Or what the Med’cine for a wounded Heart?

Three ſleepleſs Nights, and three ſucceeding Days,

Her Head ſhe ſtrove and only ſtrove to raiſe:

But all in Silence lifts to Heav’n her Eyes;

Then turns them on me, cloſes them, and dies.

My fatal Love, by adverſe Heav’n accurſt,

Endur’d theſe Ills, and this the laſt and worſt.

Beneath the Cedars venerable Shade,

Adorn’d with native Flow’rs, the Tomb I made:

Theſe and my Tears are all I cou’d beſtow;

And add the mournful Tablet of our Woe.

Such were the humble Rites that I cou’d pay,

Fate and my Love have ſummon’d me away:

And you my Friends! Survivors of the Wave,

Unite our Aſhes in this common Grave.

If better Fortune to this ſylvan Place,

In future Times ſhall guide a Chriſtian Race,

May G2r 147

May ſome kind Hand, as Piety ſhall move,

Or ſad Remembrance of diſaſtrous Love,

The rural Shine of fragrant Timber rear;

To ſhade our long neglected Sepulchre

For various Marble let the Floor be ſpread

With the cold Reliques of the ſilent Dead.

Whoe’er ſhall touch on this Heſperian Shore,

This Ocean paſs’d and all its Dangers o’er,

When to high Heav’n your grateful Vows ariſe,

Mix with your Hymns our ſolemn Obſequies:

Then, when the Prieſt the pious Requiem ſings,

And pure Devotion mounts on Angels Wings,

Severe Religion may perhaps relent,

And drop a Tear upon the Monument.

Our Fate, remember’d on a foreign Coaſt,

Shall give to Honour what to Life was loſt.

On the Origin of the World.

Let thoſe who for their fancy’d Godhead trace,

Thro’ gen’ral Nature, or unbounded Space,

With ſolid Reaſon and Diſcourſe explain

Th’ unreal Idol of their heated Brain.

Whoſe Deity immersſ’d in Matter lies;

Refin’d and volatile thro’ Space he flies:

The Proteus ſcorns Detection or Surprize:

The Syſtem on a vain Foundation built,

Falſe Shame, and falſer Pride, and tim’rous Guilt,

G2 Muſt G2v 148

Muſt weakly for a wretched Safety try;

And baniſh, or diſarm its Deity.

Fond Man! who ſcorns thoſe Principles to learn

Which Faith may teach, or Reaſon may diſcern,

Ev’n unaſſiſted Nature bids us look

On the fair Volume of her various Book,

And then inquire, if Homer’s lofty Page,

Ulyſſes’ Toils, or ſtern Achilles’ Rage,

The Grecian Triumphs, and the Trojan Woes,

From the Reſult of ſcatter’d Letters roſe.

If not, cou’d Chance the nobleſt Work produce

For various Beauties, and for apteſt Uſe?

Did ſhe, that we might ſee, and taſte, and hear,

Contrive the Eye, the Palate, and the Ear,

And all this vaſt Variety around,

Of Objects viſible, and Taſte and Sound?

Or were they form’d, of Thought and Purpoſe void,

By Chance at firſt, and then by Chance employ’d?

And do we to combining Atoms owe

That we exiſt, and that we act and know?

Or ſhall we lay this univerſal Frame

For ever was, and ſhall remain the ſame?

Vain Error! by th’ ambiguous Samian taught;

And from the fabling Prieſts of Ægypt brought.

For ever did eternal Planets riſe,

And ſet alternate in eternal Skies?

Or muſt a firſt determin’d Point be giv’n

From whence they ſtarted thro’ the ambient Heav’n?

That certain Point began their vaſt Career;

If not they muſt at once be ev’ry where:

As G3r 149

As ſeems the whirling Brand, when it returns

In rapid Hands and in a Circle burns.

The Revolution of their endleſs Dance,

If unbegun, nor leſſen, nor advance;

Were infinite a thouſand Years before,

A thouſand Ages hence ſhall be no more:

The part and whole muſt juſtly equal be,

Or infinites in Number diſagree.

Yet grave Antiquity may turn the Scale,

When captious Wit, and jealous Reaſon fail:

Let Annals then, and Obſervations ſhow

The Face of Heav’n and Earth ſo along go:

If Arts or Arms that ancient World cou’d boaſt,

How was their Fame in long Oblivion loſt?

Had Floods of Fire or Inſults of the Main,

Reduc’d Mankind to Savages again,

Tradition wou’d preſerve the dire Event;

Or Nature wou’d retain the Monument.

No Trace remains of any that befel,

But one; of which the ſacred Volumes tell.

The Miner wonders, as his Search explores

The Spoils of Ocean, mix’d with ſhining Ores:

Thus empty Shells on Alpine Hills are found,

Or wedg’d in Marble underneath the Ground;

Nor more diſtinct when on the Beach they lie,

Waſh’d by the Tide, and gaping to the Sky.

To ſum the Whole in one compendious View,

The Growth of Science proves the World but new:

And Arts and Empire firſt at Babel grew.

Here firſt the mighty Hunter rang’d the Plain,

Rais’d his ſtrong Walls, and fix’d his ample Reign:

G3 Here G3v 150

Here impious Men the brick-built Turret rear,

And wiſe Chaldæans watch the rolling Sphere;

Here, bright in Arms embattled Troops were ſeen;

And Myriads pouring round their warlike Queen.

This Greece relates; but Greece can add no more,

’Till Ægypt lends her inexhauſted Store.

In vain of countleſs Ages they may boaſt;

Fancy herſelf in that Abyſs is loſt:

That round of vaſt Eternity to feign,

The Year of Plato muſt return again.

Yet Faith aſpires to Notions more ſublime,

Diſtinguiſhing Eternity from Time:

An Attribute which he alone can claim

Who always is, and always is the ſame.

But grant the pre-exiſtent Seeds were held

In fluid Principles, and Chaos veil’d,

Why ever? Why not ſooner did they riſe

To form material Worlds and liquid Skies?

For yet no Planet, by his genial Pow’r

Matur’d the Maſs, or fix’d the natal Hour.

But if the Birth from inbred Vigour came,

Aſpiring Principles, enliv’ning Flame,

Why roſe ſo late this beauteous uſeful Frame?

Why ſlept ſo long this indigeſted Maſs?

Or Chaos ſtill muſt be, or never was.

Then bluſh your univerſal Pan is found,

Or rarify’d to Space, or elſe in Matter drown’d.

Then own that God, whoſe Hand on all impreſs’d,

Created Matter, and with Order bleſs’d;

Omniſcient Spirit, omnipreſent mind,

Not preſs’d by Matter, nor by Space confin’d:

Time, G4r 151

Time, that to Man does in Succeſſion flow,

By him is center’d in eternal now.

Ceaſe, human Wit! for thy Attempts are vain

His infinite Duration to explain,

By bounded Notions, vaniſhing like thee,

Between what has been and what is to be.

O fooliſh Man! by cauſeleſs Doubts miſled!

By Learning blinded, and by Wit betray’d!

Whom God from nothing did ſo lately raiſe,

Is this thy Gratitude? Is this thy Praiſe?

Lay all thy jangling Sophiſters aſide,

With verbal Gloſs and wand’ring Gueſs ſupply’d:

Their Search of Truth in Falſhood does abound,

Shews rather how ’tis loſt, than how ’tis found.

Reaſon exhauſted with the long Diſpute,

And Paſſion to aſſert, or to confute,

May all their Syſtems in a Word confine,

’Tis all the Fabric of a Pow’r divine.

’Tis he the Sun with genial Flames inſpires

To lead the Dance of the celeſtial Fires;

As in proportion’d Intervals they go,

Swift in Approaches, and at Diſtance ſlow:

Or in a leſs, or in a wider Space,

As his attractive Force directs their Race.

’Tis he compels them in their Orbs to keep;

Tho’ ſuch an Influence turns their ample Sweep?

Then to the Book return, whence we receive

All we are bound to practiſe or believe:

Nor is the Book of Nature wrote more fair

Than is her Origin recorded There.

What Muſe but the celeſtial cou’d indite

The vaſt and void Obſcure? The Birth of Light?

G4 Creative G4v 152

Creative Spirit o’er the Waters hung?

Such were the Truths the raptur’d Shepherd ſung,

Greater at Horebs blazing Foot, alone,

Than in the Proſpect of the Memphian Throne.

Of ſceptic Sophiſtry thy Mind diveſt;

And heav’nly Truth ſhall beam, upon thy Breaſt:

But not with ſuch do theſe Inquiry ſute,

Whoſe Wit is doubting, Science to diſpute.

God, rob’d in Pow’r, rebellious Pride o’erthrows,

But on the humble Heart his Grace beſtows.

On the Proſpect from Westminster Bridge, 1750-03March 1750.

Cæsar! renown’d in Silence as in War,

Look down a while from thy maternal Star:

See! to the Skies what ſacred Domes aſcend,

What ample Arches o’er the River bend;

What Vills above in rural Proſpect lye,

Beneath a Street that intercepts the Eye,

Where happy Commerce glads the wealthy Streams,

And floating Caſtles ride. Is this the Thames?

The Scene where brave Caſſibelan of Yore

Repuls’d thy Legions on a ſavage Shore?

Britain ’tis true was hard to overcome,

Or by the Arms, or by the Arts of Rome,

Yet we allow thee Ruler of the Sphere;

And laſt of all reſign thy Julian Year.

Now G5r 153

Now Night her higheſt Noon aſcends,

And o’er the Globe her Shades extends:

While all her ſhining Lamps of Light,

The Soul to ſolemn Thought invite.

How were they made? by whom? or when?

And whence aroſe the Race of Men?

From ancient Chaos did they come?

Muſt Chaos be again their Tomb?

Who lighted up the vital Fire?

Whither again ſhall that retire?

On that important Queſtion pauſe.

And learn that Nature had a Cauſe,

From whom the whole Creation ſprings;

The Cauſe of Cauſes and of Things.

The Maſs in fun’ral Flames ſhall burn;

And riſe a Phœnix from its Urn.

But, muſt the Soul, uncloth’d and cold,

Appear, her Maker to behold?

Or ſhall the gaping Grave reſtore,

The Robe of Fleſh which once ſhe wore?

O who ſhall paint her Shame and Fear?

Think, O my Soul! thou muſt be there;

And wiſh, too late, to lay aſide

Thy Paſſions veil’d beneath thy Pride.

O God! if e’er my heedleſs Youth

Deny’d, or doubted of thy Truth,

If unrelenting or unjuſt

I ſpurn’d the Poor, or wrong’d my Truſt,

G5 For G5v 154

For Hope I never ſhou’d preſume;

But ſhrink to hide me in the Tomb:

Or to the Rocks and Mountains call

To whelm me in their gen’ral Fall.

Alas! the Frailties, which are mine,

I only can with Life reſign:

When my chill Blood forgets to roll;

And Death benumbs my Senſe and Soul.

Theſe I commit to thee alone,

Thou public Victim to atone,

And judge triumphant on thy Throne.

Adieu my Friend! and may thy Woes

Be all in long Oblivion loſt:

If Innocence can give Repoſe;

Or gentle Verſe can pleaſe thy Ghoſt.

No pious Rite, no ſolemn Knell

Attended thy belov’d Remains:

Nor ſhall the letter’d Marble tell

What ſilent Earth the Charge contains.

Obſcure, beneath the nameleſs Stone,

With thee ſhall Truth and Virtue ſleep:

While, with her Lamp, the Muſe alone,

Shall watch thy ſacred Duſt and weep.

Blue G6r 155

Blue Violets, and Snow-Drops pale,

In pearly Dew for thee ſhall mourn:

And humble Lillies of the Vale

Shall cover thy neglected Urn.

A Song.

Be ſtill ye Winds! let ev’ry Breath,

Let ev’ry Whiſper ceaſe:

As in the quiet Cave of Death,

Thou babling Eccho! Peace!

Ye Streams without a Murmur glide;

To nouriſh deep Deſpair:

No trembling Oſiers by your Side,

Diſturb the Midnight Air.

Ye conſcious Stars, that roll above,

To fix our Fate below;

In ſolemn Silence as you move

Be Witneſs to my Woe:

Be Witneſs to the Vows I made

The Tears I ſtill muſt pay;

While, like a melancholy Shade,

I ſhun the Face of Day.

G6 Susan- G6v 156


or Innocence Preserv’d.

Muſical Drama.

Two Elders.


Her Servants.


Israelites and Captive Women.



In Babylon.

First Part.

First Elder.

Tyrant of Youth! how oft we blame

Thy raſh, ungovernable Flame?

Tho’ not the Snows of hoary Age,

Can thy devouring Fire aſſwage.

Second G7r 157

Second Elder.

An aweful Air, and learned Pride,

From public Eyes our Frailties hide:

And, while the Paſſions lurk within,

Afford a ſpecious Veil to Sin.

But what Diſcov’ry need I fear?

Firſt Elder.

Then have I met a Rival here?

Second Elder.

What in theſe Shades does thee detain?

Firſt Elder.

Of what, my Friend, doſt thou complain?


Our common Guilt, our common Pain.

Firſt Elder.

Wiſdom! Virtue! Duty!

I confeſs your Sway:

What are you, when Beauty

Forces to obey?

While I gaze upon her

Phantoms all of Honour

Vaniſh quite away.

Second Elder.

See! to the gloomy Grove ſhe goes,

To ſhun the fierce Meridian Beams:

Ye Zephyrs! lull her to Repoſe;

And tell my Paſſion to her Dreams.


The Croud and Senators are gone:

Securely I may bathe alone:

No Eye beneath, around, above,

Can pierce the Shades of this Alcove;

The G7v 158

The Spring is clear, and undefil’d;

And fann’d with Breezes breathing mild.


Bring, ye Virgins! bring,

Liquid Sweets and fragrant Oil;

What the laviſh Spring

Scatters on this happy Soil:

What Nature breathes, or Art compoſes,

From Nard, or Jeſſamin, or Roſes.


What can be ſo fair and ſweet

As when Love and Virtue meet,

Thus to bleſs, the wedded Pair?

He ſo faithful, ſhe ſo fair.



But O! ye Eaſtern Waters! as you flow,

Remember that our Country claims our Woe:

That neither Voice nor Lyre we can command,

Sighs check the Voice and Sorrow chills the Hand.

Firſt Elder.

Whither doſt thou hope to fly?

Love has a more piercing Eye.

Second Elder.

Whither doſt thou hope to run?

Love has Flames thou canſt not ſhun.


Ah me! what ruſtles thro’ the Grove?

Firſt Elder.

No Tiger fear――

Second Elder.

’Tis only Love.

Duo. G8r 159


No Tiger fear――

’Tis only Love.


Ah me! what Ruſtles thro’ the Grove.

Firſt Elder.

See! how your Beauty can enſlave

The Learned, the Severe and Grave:

How Wiſdom, Honor, Juſtice, Fame,

Submit to the victorious Flame.

Second Elder.

If rev’rend Age be counted wiſe,

Let Youth attend what we adviſe:

Nor vainly loſe thy lovely Prime;

For Wiſdom is but Uſe of Time.


Strange are the Words; unheard before:

O ceaſe! that I may hear no more.


To Joachim my Vows are giv’n;

Be Witneſs Earth! and Witneſs Heav’n!

Can ever Earth or Heav’n allow,

That I ſhould break the ſacred Vow?


Firſt Elder.

Who can our ſecret Love deſcry?

Second Elder.

Who to reveal the Tale is nigh?


But Witneſs Heav’ns all-piercing Eye

Air. G8v 160



Or ſend thy Succour from above,

Or inward Force inſpire,


To guard me from forbidden Love;

Or quench their guilty Fire.


Firſt Elder.

Love ill repay’d to Vengeance turns:

Second Elder.

Vengeance than Love more fiercely burns.


Vengeance than Love ――

Firſt Elder.

Then Love or Death.

Second Elder.

Then Love or ――


Be Death my Choice.

Firſt Elder.

And Death of Fame by publick Voice.


And Death of Fame ――



In Heighth of Bliſs and Bloom of Youth,

How hard it is to die?

To violate my plighted Truth

Is harder to comply.

Tho’ to the Rage of impious Love

I fall a Sacrifice,

Yet know there is a Pow’r above,

Beholds with equal Eyes

I Firſt G9r 161

Firſt Elder.

Stop, ſeize, purſue――

Her Servants.[Speaker label not present in original source]

Servants Entering.

What means the Call?

Second Elder.

The Youth has overleap’d the Wall.


What Youth?

Firſt Elder.

Alas! in that Surprize

With her ――

Second Elder.

Cou’d we believe our Eyes!

He mocks our feeble Age, and flies;

Firſt Elder.

We fought to hold, but he, more young,

Eſcap’d, and o’er the Fences ſprung:

His Perſon was to us unknown;

Nor wou’d ſhe tell when he was gone.


Incredible! did ever Fame,

Or ev’n Suſpicion touch her Name?

Second Elder.

Our Age ſuch Credit may obtain:

Our Teſtimony is not vain.

And ſince our Victor does permit

We in Judicature ſhould fit,

To Joachim’s Abode repair:

Let all the Senators be there.

Firſt Elder.

Beauty may to Pity move;

Pity be the Bait of Love:

Juſtice G9v 162

Juſtice, aweful and ſevere,

Veils her Eyes and ſhuts her Ear;

Scorns the Bribe, and ſlights the Tear.


In Heav’n alone, in Heav’n I truſt:

Tho’ Man be impious and unjuſt.


Adieu ye Glades! ye Springs adieu!

Did ever I commit to you

A ſingle Thought that ſhun’d the View!

Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

Second Part.


O! whither is the Glory gone

Of Siam, once renown’d?

Our holy Place, and David’s Throne,

Are levell’d with the Ground.

Alas! the ſlow revolving Year

Muſt circle ſeventy Times,

While we remain in Bondage here,

To languiſh for our Crimes.


Nor is it all: Alas! our own

Exceed the Sins of Babylon:

Vice reigns thro’ our abandon’d Tribes;

Ambition, Avarice, and Bribes.

Whence G10r 163

Whence do I hear that furious Cry?


It is Suſanna, led to dye.


Suſanna, of our royal Race?

Suſanna, doom’d to this Diſgrace?

Suſanna, beautiful and chaſte?


Bleſſings, alas! but not to laſt.



O Pow’r Divine! to thee I call:

Behold! in Innocence I fall.


What was, and is, and is to be,

Alike are viſible to thee,

Tho’ in Obſcurity they lye:

And tho’ by Perjuries I dye,

Yet I am ſpotleſs in thine Eye.

Captive Women.

What alas! ſhall Woman truſt?

Youth and Beauty are but Duſt:

If ſo noble Blood ally’d,

All is tranſitory Pride.

Honour, and a ſpotleſs Name,

Bubbles of uncertain Fame:

All to vaniſh with a Breath.

What is all this Scene beneath?

Firſt Elder.

See! how the Beauty, falſe and frail,

Unmerited their Pity draws?

Second Elder.

Shall her diſſembling Tears avail

Againſt the Justice of our Laws?

Reci- G10v 164

Recitative. Chelcias.

O this did ever I preſage?

Is this the Comfort of my Age?

Thy pious Youth! thy modeſt Bloom!

Unjuſt and impious is the Doom,

That ſinks me to the ſilent Tomb.


O! cou’d my faithful Heart deceive?

Or that fair Form my Truſt betray?

O! no! I never can believe――

Together either ſave, or ſlay.

Air. Susanna.

Thus the Falcon from above,

Shoots upon the tender Dove:

While hid in Silence lies

Her gentle Mate,

To mourn her Fate,

She trembles, bleeds and dies.


Witneſs my Hands, that you remain

Untainted with the purple Stain,

When helpleſs Innocence is ſlain.

D. C. 1ſt and 2d Lines.

Firſt Elder.

Where is the Youth, who raſh and bold

Uſurps the Honours of the Old?

Second Elder.

Is that thou haſt receiv’d from Heav’n,

Authority, to the Ancients giv’n?

Da- G11r 165


The Gifts of Heav’n are not confin’d,

An upright Heart, a ſearching Mind,

To young or old, or great or ſmall:

If Heav’n the Breaſt of you inſpires

Or Paſſion lead the hoary Sires,

Shall ſoon be viſible to all.

Firſt Elder.

Aſcend the Tribune, and from thence

Thy Wiſdom to the Croud diſpenſe.


Then ſet the Witneſſes aſide:

Aſunder; till the Cauſe be try’d.

Solemn Symphony.

And thou! alone ſupremely wiſe!

Unalterably juſt and true!

Aſſiſt me, thro’ the dark Diſguiſe

Of Falſehood; to direct my View:

And all her Mazes to purſue.

Muſic again Piano.


O Pow’r divine! attend and hear!

My Tongue is ty’d by Shame and Fear:

But when the Innocent bemoan,


Ev’n Silence whiſpers at thy Throne.


to Firſt Elder.

O thou! whoſe hoary Age can rove,

Loſt in the Wilds of guilty Love!

Now heav’nly Vengeance brings to Light,

Thy Crimes; too cloſe for human Sight:

For G11v 166

For thou haſt clear’d exalted Guilt,

And Blood of Innocence haſt ſpilt.

Yet tell me if thou haſt beheld,

What Tree the lawleſs Love conceal’d?

Firſt Elder.

Beneath a dropping Maſtick; there

We ſurpriz’d the guilty Pair.


’Tis well! thy Head ſhall bear the Lye:

O falſe and fraudulent, in vain;

The Angel of the Lord ſtands by;

Ordain’d to ſever thee in twain.

To Second Elder.

O thou of Canaan’s impious Race!

For Juda ſcorns a Son ſo baſe;

Since Beauty can thy Judgment blind,

And Paſſion over-rule thy Mind.

O’er Iſrael’s Daughters aw’d by Fear

Your eaſy Victories you gain’d.

Which ſhe of Jada ſcorn’d to bear;

And all your Artifice diſdain’d.

Yet tell me, if thou haſt beheld,

What Tree the lawleſs Love condeal’d?

Second Elder.

A ſtately Holm above them ſpread

The Shelter of his ample Head.


O Force of Truth! that uncontroll’d

Confutes the Wiſe, and daunts the Bold!

How little ſhall thy ſpecious Tale

To murther Innocence avail?

Air. G12r 167


Thy Sentence by thyſelf is giv’n!

Look up and tremble with Deſpair!

Behold the Miniſter of Heav’n!

He wheels the fiery Sword in Air;

And waits to ſever thee in twain.

Ye both are deſtin’d to be ſlain.


O! bear them, bear them to their Fate;

As to another they deſign’d:

Second Israel.

That impious Love, and guileful Hate,

An equal Recompenſe may find.

Firſt Elder.

Conſcious Anguiſh, guilty Shame,

Pierce my Heart, and brand my Name.

Second Elder.

Hide me, Earth! that I may lye,

Safe from Scorn and Infamy.


But unreveng’d is twice to dye.


O Daniel! juſt is thy Decree;

The Voice of Heav’n decides in thee:

To Susanna.

Thine is the Praiſe of Virtue try’d;

To Joach.

And thine the Bliſs of ſuch a Bride.

The Crown of hoary Age is mine:

The Glory to the Pow’r Divine.

Preſent Joy for Sorrow paſt,

Heightens the delicious Taſte.

I Air. G12v 168

Air. Joachim.

Rumor baſe, and canker’d Spight,

Hence to everlaſing Night;

There in ſolid Fetters bound,

Fetters which in vain you bite,

Murmur thro’ the dark Profound.


I tremble, like the frighted Deer,

That juſt eſcapes the Tiger near.


But, O! to him the Praiſe is due,

Who vindicates the Chaſte and True:

The Triumph is not mine.

For who the Victory cou’d win

Unleſs ſupported from within

By Fortitude divine?

D. C.

Grand Chorus.

Show’r thy Bleſſings from above,

Author of connubial Love!

On the Hearts by thee combin’d;

Sacred Harmony of Mind!

Show’r thy Bleſſings from above,

Author of connubial Love!

D. H1r 169


This Off’ring, Lord! I to thy Altar bring,

Now Sorrow has untun’d my Voice to ſing:

Yet thus I ſung, when thy auſpicious Praiſe

Inſpir’d my humble Muſe in better Days.

But what is Life? while Youth is freſh and ſtrong

Unfelt it bears the deſtin’d Load along:

Advancing onwards to maturer Years,

The Path, alas! is thro’ the Vale of Tears.

The Harveſt blaſted what have I to give?

This Sheaf, the Tribute of the Field, receive.

Psalm I.


Happy the Man who never ſtrays

In vain Conſult thro’ guilty Ways:

Nor does in Paths of Sinners wait,

Nor reſts in their licentious Seat.


The Law divine does him employ,

With conſtant Diligence and Joy:

H This H1v 170

This Taſk prevents the dawning Light,

And fills the Vigils of the Night.


So ſhall he live, ſo flouriſh ſtill,

As faſt beſide the ſilver Rill,

The Tree, with Fruit maturely hung,

For ever green, for ever young.


But far unlike are the Profrane;

As parted from the ſolid Grain.

Beneath the Van, when Winds ariſe

The Chaff in whirling Eddies flies.


Nor ſhall the Impious dare to ſtand

Before the Seat of high Command:

Nor ſhall they undiſcern’d remain,

Tho’ herded with the righteous Train.


The Lord obſerves, with ſtrict Survey,

How pious Men direct their Way:

The Paths in which the Wicked tread

To Certainty of Ruin lead.

Psalm H2r 171

Psalm III.

What Numbers, Lord! increaſe the Swarms

Which vex me with their Rage?

What Numbers in rebellious Arms

Againſt my Peace engage?

How many of my Soul have ſaid,

Nor him his Deity can aid?

’Tis thou art my Protector Lord!

The Subject of my Praiſe:

’Tis thou that doſt thy Help afford,

My Head aloft to raiſe.

To God I my Complaint preferr’d,

And from his Holy Hill he heard.

Upon my Couch I lay’d me down,

Securely to repoſe:

Supported by the Lord alone;

Again from Sleep I roſe.

No Terror ſhall my Heart confound,

Not tho’ ten thouſand hem me round.

Rouze thee, O Lord! aſſert my Cauſe,

O God in my Defence:

Thou of my Foes haſt ſmote the Jaws

And daſh’d their Teeth from thence.

Salvation does to thee belong;

’Tis thine to bleſs thy pious Throng.

H2 Psalm H2v 172

Psalm XXIX.

Ye Kings and Heroes! whoſe imperial Sway

The Subject Nations of the World obey:

Select the Leaders of the Flock with Care,

Whoſe budding Horns imagin’d Flights prepare;

To God’s Abode the deſtin’d Victims bring,

And own the Lord, of Majeſty the Spring.

With Rev’rence pure his ſacred Name adore;

The Author of your delegated Pow’r:

For Strength deriv’d from him your Homage own;

And proſtrate fall before his awful Throne.

His Sov’reign Voice reſtrains the ſwelling Floods;

He rolls his Thunder thro’ the ſable Clouds:

His Pow’r to Bounds confines the raging Sea;

And nature’s laws his dreaded voice obey.

His awful Voice commands; and all around

The ſtately Cedars tremble at the Sound:

From ſnow-crown’d Libanus the Cedars torn,

Their rifted Bole and ſhatter’d Branches mourn.

Not Woods alone, but ſolid Mountains ſhake;

Like Calves which Herdſmen from their Mothers take:

Tall Libanus inclines, and Hermon moves,

As the young Unicorn his Fury proves.

Th’ Almighty ſpeaks, the parted Clouds give way,

And thro’ the Breach the ruddy Lightnings play:

The H3r 173

The deſert Region, and the wild Abode

Of Cadeſh, tremble at the Voice of God.

The Foreſt ſhakes, and forc’d by ſudden Throes

The frighted Hinds, their helpleſs Fawns depoſe.

The Coverts ſhine, detected by the Blaze,

And God’s high Temple ecchoes with his Praiſe.

The Lord, for ever King, tho’ Tempeſts rave,

Enthron’d reſides above the roaring Wave.

Be thou in War thy People’s dread Defence;

In Peace the Bleſſings of calm Peace diſpenſe.


Nor e’er let Sinners, in Succeſs elate,

Diſturb thy Soul, or impious Doubts create:

Nor e’er at proſp’rous Guilt in Thought repine,

To wiſh the tranſitory Grandeur thine.

Shorn as the Graſs ſhall fall their faded Pride:

Like ſickly Plants, in ſultry Summer dry’d.

Rely on God; employ thyſelf in Good:

Inhabit Earth, and reſt ſecure of Food.

In him be thy Delight, who ſhall impart

Thy Wiſh complete to gratify thy Heart:

Thy Conduct to the Deity commend;

And truſt on him to give a proſp’rous End.

He ſhall thy queſtion’d Innocence diſplay,

As from the Cloud breaks forth th’ emergent Ray:

And thy Integrity ſhall then be ſhown,

Bright as the Sun on his Meridian Throne.

H3 Then H3v 174

Then perſevere; and to the Lord reſign’d

Attend his Will, with Conſtancy of Mind:

Nor envy him who in his Way proceeds

To ripen dark Deſign to guilty Deeds.

From Ire and Indignation clear thy Breaſt:

Habitual Diſcontent will Sin ſuggeſt.

For from the Root ſhall periſh the Profrane:

The Patient ſhall the Heritage obtain,

The Impious, Mark! how in a Moment’s Space

He vaniſhes away! his former Place

Nor curious Eye, nor ſearching Thought can trace.

But by the Mild the Land ſhall be poſſeſs’d,

In Affluence, Peace, and Plentitude of Reſt.

The Godleſs Wretch againſt the Man upright

Conſults; and grinds his horrid Teeth for Spight:

Him ſhall the Lord deride; in whoſe Survey

Are ſeen the near Approaches of his Day.

His Sword the Wicked draws, he bends his Bow,

To ſlay the Juſt, and lay th’ Unhappy low:

The fatal Sword ſhall pierce the Maſter’s Heart,

And the perfidiuos Bow to Shivers ſtart.

The Competence of pious Men is more

Than all the Miſer’s Maſs of hoarded Ore.

While God ſupports the Juſt, diſarm’d and broke

The Sinner’s Arm ſhall diſappoint the Stroke.

He ſees the Term which yet remains behind

Of future Years to righteous Men aſſign’d:

That their Inheritance no Change ſhall know;

No Fears perplex them in the Days of Woe.

Suffic’d with Plenty, tho’ penurious Dearth

And meagre Famine deſolate the Earth.

Soon H4r 175

Soon ſhall the Impious periſh; O! how ſoon

The rebel Foes of Heav’ns high Lord are gone;

Like Fat of Lambs which ſacred Flames conſume;

Or in the apter Semblance of their Fume.

The Wicked borrows, heedleſs of his Day,

And means to circumvert, but not repay:

While kind Compaſſion, ready to impart,

Diffuſes Wealth, and opens all the Heart.

Theſe bleſs’d by God, their fertile Glebe ſhall keep:

But thoſe his vengeful Curſe away ſhall ſweep.

He of the Good ſhall guide the Steps aright,

And ſtill obſerves his Progreſs with Delight:

Tho’ he may fall, not fall’n for ever down

The Lord ſupports, and raiſes him o’erthrown.

From blooming Youth to this Decline of Age,

As long Experience ripen’d ev’ry Stage,

This Truth I ſtill atteſt, I never ſaw

The Care of Heav’n from pious Men withdraw:

Nor helpleſs Orphans of the Juſt, unfed

From unrelenting Strangers aſk their Bread.

His Charity, who does the Loan diſpenſe,

Entails on them the Guard of Providence.

Then fly from Guilt, endeavour to excel

In virtuous Deeds, and ſo for ever dwell.

For ſtill the Lord with Pleaſure ſhall reſpect

The Right; nor leave his Servants to neglect;

Them with inceſſant Goodneſs he defends:

While rooted up the Race of Sinners ends.

The Pious ſhall the wealthy Soil divide

In Heritage; and ever there reſide.

The Mouth of righteous Men maintains the Cauſe

Of ſacred Prudence, and impartial Laws:

H4 Firm H4v 176

Firm in their Hearts the Lord’s Decrees abide,

Nor ever fears their ſteady Foot to ſlide.

The Wicked waits, and ſeeks the Juſt to ſlay:

The Lord ſhall not reſign the deſtin’d Prey

To cruel Hands; nor when he ſhall appear

At his Tribunal, paſs a Doom ſevere.

Then truſt on him, and tread his Paths with Care;

And he ſhall raiſe thee his Domain to ſhare:

When on his Foes his vengeful Wrath ſhall fall,

Thyſelf ſhall ſee the Ruin of them all.

I oft myſelf the impious Man have ſeen

In Heighth of Pow’r with an exalted Mien;

So the fair Laurel ſpreads her hardy Green:

He paſs’d away, behold! and was no more;

Nor cou’d my Eye his vaniſh’d Place explore.

But mark the perfect Man; and fix thy Sight

Intent on him who well obſerves the Right:

How gently he from human Toil ſhall ceaſe;

Compos’d and wrap’d in everlaſting Peace.

But the Tranſgreſſors, as in Guilt combin’d,

Together ſhall a like Deſtruction find:

At once they end. But God in Days of Woe

Does Strength and Succour on the Juſt beſtow:

Thou, Lord! ſhall aid, relieve, and ſet them free

From lawleſs Man; for they confide in thee.

Psalm XLIII.


O God! deliver me from Wrong;

Defend me from an impious Throng:

From H5r 177

From ſecret Guile and open Strife

Relieve my Fears, and free my Life.


O God! from whom my Strength is giv’n,

Why from thy Preſence am I driv’n?

Why rove I thus, of Joy bereft,

And to my Foes defenceleſs left?


Of heav’nly Light impart a Ray;

Let Truth divine direct my Way;

And to the favour’d Mountain guide,

Which thy Abode has ſanctify’d.


To God I then my Steps will bend;

His holy Altar to attend:

The God who does my Joys inſpire;

The God to whom I tune my Lyre.


Why droops my Soul with Sorrow fraught,

And dire Inquietude of Thought?

That dire Inquietude reſign,

Deliver’d to the Pow’r divine.


To him I yet my Voice will raiſe,

In pious Melody of Praiſe:

To him who does my Cheeks renew

With florid Health and roſeate Hue.

H5 Psalm H5v 178

Psalm XLV.

From my full Heat burſts forth the bubling Stream;

The youthful Monarch is my darling Theme

Of ſacred Verſe: my Tongue, the ready Style

Of the ſwift Scribe, purſues the chearful Toil.

O thou in Beauty and majeſtic Grace

Above the Progeny of human Race!

Upon thy Lips ſoft Elocution flows;

Such endleſs Bleſſings God on thee beſtows.

Thou, great in Arms! with military Pride,

Suſpend the blazing Falchion at thy Side;

With proſp’rous Omens ride in princely State;

Truth, Mercy, Juſtice, in thy Train ſhall wait.

Thy right Hand, with inevitable Art,

Swift from the Bow ſhall ſend the piercing Dart

Againſt thy Foes, and fix it in their Heart.

Subdu’d and vanquiſh’d then the Nations all

With proſtrate Homage ſhall before thee fall.

Thy Throne, O God! for ever ſhall remain;

And righteous is the Sceptre of thy Reign.

The Love of Equity delights thy Breaſt;

And dire Injuſtice all thy Thoughts deteſt:

For this has God, thy God himſelf has ſhed

The chearful Fragrance on thy honour’d Head

Superior to thy Peers. From thy Attire

The Tears of Myrrh with balmy Breath reſpire;

The aromatic Wood unfolds its Sweets,

And the rich Odour of the Caſſia meets:

In H6r 179

In iv’ry Domes the meaſur’d Spices lay,

To ſwell thy Joys on this triumphal Day.

The royal Maids attend, an honour’d Band:

And on thy right, behold thy Conſort ſtand;

Her fair Cymarrin rich Materials vyes,

Weighty with Gold, and gay with various Dyes.

To this Advice a willing Ear impart;

Let this, my Daughter! eaſe thy penſive Heart:

Forget the Pleaſures of thy native Earth,

Forget the royal Authors of thy Birth;

So ſhall thy Beauty with thy Bliſs improve,

The deareſt Object of the Monarch’s Love.

To him thy Lord, ſubmiſſive Honour pay,

While at thy Feet Phœnicia’s Daughters lay

The Wealth of Tyrus’ tributary Shore;

And ſuppliant Strangers ſhall thy Grace implore.

Tho’ cloath’d in radiant Metal ſhines the Queen,

Her nobleſt Charms are of the Mind unſeen.

Upon her Robe the artful Needle pours

A gay Profuſion of embroider’d Flow’rs:

With ſolemn Pompher fair Companions bring

The bright imperial Virgin to the King;

With Sounds of univerſal Joy they come

To the high Portals of the royal Dome.

Thy abſent Sire thy Children ſhall repay;

And thro’ the World extend their princely Sway:

My Song, the Sponſion of eternal Fame,

To future Age ſhall celebrate thy Name;

To thee the joyful Populace ſhall raiſe,

Their loud Acclaim, and eccho to thy Praiſe.

H6 Psalm H6v 180

Psalm XLIX.

Ye Sons of Humankind attend me all!

Ye Habitants of this ſublunar Ball;

The Rich, the Poor, the Mean, the Nobly born,

Obſerve me well, nor my Inſtruction ſcorn.

My Lips diſcurſive Science ſhall impart,

And all on Prudence meditate my Heart:

To myſtic Truth in Allegory told

I bend my Ear; and to the Harp unfold.

In adverſe Times what Fear have I to feel,

Tho’ then my Guilt ſhou’d preſs my flying Heel?

Tho’ ſome in boaſted Heaps of Wealth confide,

And by their Treaſures fortify their Pride,

No Bribe prevails with Heav’n; nor can it ſave

A ranſom’d Brother from the gaping Grave:

For Heav’n-born Souls ſo poor a Price tranſcend,

As human Wealth; and let their Labour end.

If Life cou’d laſt for Ages long to come,

Yet hope not vainly to eſcape the Tomb.

Behold, a mournful Scene, before your Eyes

The frequent Fun’rals of the Grave and Wiſe:

How they, like Fools and Idiots are no more;

And leave to thankleſs Heirs their hoarded Store.

Yet ſtill with empty Hopes their Toils engage,

In Buildings to remain from Age to Age;

Such as tranſmitted thro’ a long Deſcent

May bear their Name, and be their Monument.

Yet H7r 181

Yet Pow’r and Titles to their Period haſte,

’Tis not the Privilege of Man to laſt:

Too well with thoughtleſs Brutes may he compare,

Whoſe fleeting Spirit vaniſhes in Air.

A ſtupid Courſe! yet, in the beaten Way,

Their ſenſeleſs Race approves of all they ſay.

Like Sheep to Slaughter they reſign to Doom,

Their lifeleſs Limbs are bedded in the Tomb;

To Death’s inſatiate Teeth a pleaſing Prey:

But when the Morning ſhall awake the Day,

The Juſt ſhall over them obtain the Sway.

In that Abode ſhall waſte their lovely Bloom,

For ever baniſh’d from their former Home.

But God my ranſom’d Spirit ſhall retrieve

From that dire Cave; for me ſhall he receive.

Then fear not Man; not tho’ his Treaſure ſwells

To vaſt Exceſs, and he in Splendor dwells:

Nor ſhall he bear, when he reſigns his Breath,

His uſeleſs Riches to the Shades beneath;

Nor ſhall the pompous Enſigns, which attend

His Rites of Fun’ral, after him deſcend.

Yet while this vital Air the Mortal draws,

His own Felicity, the World’s Applauſe,

He deems inſeparable, to commend

The Man to Int’reſt and himſelf a Friend.

The darkling Paths his Fathers trod before

Himſelf ſhall trace, and ſee the Sun no more.

The Man who does the Pinnacle attain,

If there the Diſtance turn his giddy Brain,

Too well with thoughtleſs Brutes may he compare,

Whoſe fleeting Spirit vaniſhes in Air.

Psalm H7v 182

Psalm L.

Thus ſpoke the Sov’reign Lord; his Mandate run

To ſummon all the World, from whence begun

His Courſe, to where deſcends the ſetting Sun.

From Sion God in matchleſs Glory ſhone:

Nor ſhall in Silence lead his Triumph on;

A Stream of rapid Flame before devours,

He wraps himſelf in Storms and ſable Show’rs.

On Heav’n above, and our inferior Ball,

He for his People ſhall to Judgment call:

Summon my Saints who have a Contract made

With me, by Victims on my Altar lay’d.

The very Heav’n his Juſtice ſhall aver:

For God himſelf is now the Arbiter.

Hear, O my People! while I ſpeak, while I

Myſelf againſt thee, Iſrael! teſtify:

For I am God, myſelf thy Deity.

Nor thy neglected Sacrifice I claim,

Nor Holocauſts to feed the conſtant Flame:

No Bullock from thy Stalls, nor from thy Cotes

Demand I now the Leaders of thy Goats.

For mine is ev’ry Beaſt of ev’ry Kind

To ſylvan Laires or Foreſt-Walls confin’d:

And mine are all the Herds whoſe Number fills

The ſpacious Paſtures of a thouſand Hills.

The Fowls are mine upon the Mountain Brow,

And mine the Savages in Fields below.

Did H8r 183

Did Hunger urge, to thee ſhou’d I complain,

When Earth is mine, and all its Stores contain?

Or ſhall the Fleſh of Beeves be my Repaſte?

Or ſhall the Blood of Goats delight my Taſte?

On God the Tribute of thy Thanks beſtow;

And to the Pow’r moſt high perform thy Vow:

Then call on me, when Trouble clouds thy Days;

And find my Aid, and render me thy Praiſe.

Then to the Impious thus. Hadſt thou a Cauſe

To name my Covenant, or preach my Laws?

Who ſtill averſe to Diſcipline, behind

Haſt ſcatter’d my Inſtruction in the Wind.

Thou, who with full Conſent and conſcious Eyes,

Haſt ſhar’d the Robber’s and Adult’rer’s Prize.

Thy Mouth promotes Impiety and Guile:

There doſt thou fit thy Brother to revile;

Thy very Brother of thy Mother born

Is by thy Calumnies expos’d to Scorn.

Such were thy Deeds, which I in Silence view’d:

And thence did thy relentleſs Heart conclude

That unconcern’d I to thy Crimes agree;

And by itſelf preſum’d to judge of me.

But to reprove thee, now thy Deeds ſhall riſe,

And open all their Horrors to thy Eyes.

O! turn your Thoughts, and all on this reflect,

Too prone your great Creator to neglect!

E’er yet he comes to rend the trembling Prey,

When all Aſſiſtance ſhall be far away.

’Tis he the nobleſt Adoration pays

Who offers up the Sacrifice of Praiſe:

And for the Man who guides his Actions right,

The ſaving Pow’r of God ſhall bleſs his Sight.

Psalm H8v 184

Psalm LVIII.

Say, O ye Senators! do you purſue

Untainted Probity in ev’ry View?

Ye Sons of Men! do all your Votes unite

To guard the Sentence of impartial Right?

Alas! within your Heart Injuſtice lyes,

And governs there, ſecure in her Diſguiſe:

While that unequal Balance in your Hand

Diſtributes Violence thro’ all the Land.

The Impious, tho’ but late produc’d to Day,

Divert from Good: but newly born they ſtray

With early Steps; their infant Voice they try,

And their firſt Accents iſſue in a Lye.

Swol’n with the Bane, their livid Veins partake

The noxious Venom of the turgid Snake:

They, like the ſullen Aſp, refuſe to hear;

Who folds the winding mazes of her Ear,

Nor liſtens to the Voice whoſe Skill excells

In magic Harmony and potent Spells.

Diſarm their Mouths, O God! and ſcatter far

The dreadful Weapons of the Lion’s War,

Broke from their Jaws. So let them roll away

As ebbing Waters haſten to the Sea.

Together when the circling Points they bring

Of the tough Horn, the ſhining Shaft to wing,

Snap the ſtrong Bow, and burſt the founding String.

So let them waſte, as Snails diſſolve in Slime:

As Births which immature prevent their Time,

Nor H9r 185

Nor ſee the golden Sun. Ere yet the Blaze

Of crackling Thorns can heat the brazen Vaſe,

Theſe, doom’d to heav’nly Wrath a living Prey,

Enwrap’d in Whirlwinds he ſhall bear away.

The pious Man, reflecting on the Sight,

Which fills his Boſom with ſevere Delight,

Obſerves celeſtial Vengeance now complete;

And in the Blood of Sinners bathes his Feet.

Mankind ſhall then pronounce: aſſur’d we truſt

That Retribution ſhall attend the Juſt:

No Doubt remains, that God, the Lord of all

Diſpenſes Juſtice thro’ this earthly Ball.

Psalm LXV.

From thee, O God! begins the ſacred Song:

On thee, O God! attends the pious Throng

In Sion’s Courts; the grateful Vow to pay,

And deſtin’d Victims on thy Flames to lay.

To thee, whoſe Ear receives the Voice of Pray’r,

Shall all of animated Earth repair.

My num’rous Crimes ſad Prevalence obtain:

But thine it is to purge the guilty Stain.

How happy he, diſtinguiſh’d by thy Choice,

To near Attendance ſummon’d by thy Voice,

Who in thy Courts for ever ſhall remain,

And taſte the bounteous Bleſſings of thy Fane.

Thou, by terrific Deeds in Juſtice wrought,

Shalt give the Anſwer which our Vows have ſought:

O ſav- H9v 186

O ſaving Deity! who doſt maintain

The Hopes of all on Earth’s extended Plain,

And all who wander on the ſpacious Main.

His Strength the Rocks has rooted to the Ground:

And Pow’r with myſtic Cincture girds him round.

His Will the roaring Ocean can aſſuage;

Or curb a frantic Nation’s wilder Rage.

Thy Signals, with tremendous Dread, controll

The limitary Circles of the Pole:

The various Climates where the Sun diſplays

His early Beam, or hides his ſetting Rays,

Reſound a joyful Eccho to thy Praiſe.

If thou to our inferior Region come,

The gentle Show’r reſtores its vernal Bloom:

The Stream divine a rich Profuſion yields,

And with a golden Harveſt glads the Fields.

The genial Moiſture chears the furrow’d Plain,

The Ridge ſubſides, and ſoftens with the Rain.

Thus bleſs’d by thee does infant Spring appear;

And thy Indulgence crowns the future Year,

While, from beneath thy Steps, the Clouds around

With fragrant Dews enrich the fertile Ground.

Ev’n on the deſert Waſte the Drops diſtill;

And grateful Mirth reſounds from ev’ry Hill.

The ſilver Flocks the Paſture Lands adorn,

The Vallies glitter with the waving Corn,

And o’er the ſmiling Fields the vocal Joys are born.

Psalm H10r 187


Let God ariſe, while, all in dire Diſmay,

His impious Foes ſhall fly, diſpers’d away;

So let them fly before, a routed Hoſt,

As curling Smoak in fluid Air is loſt:

As pliant Wax is liquify’d by Fire,

So let the Guilty waſte in God’s avenging Ire.

Ye pious Votaries! let grateful Joy

Dilate your Breaſt, and all your Pow’rs employ:

Attune your Voice to celebrate his Fame,

Who rides aloft on yon celeſtial Frame;

Rejoice in Jah, his venerable Name.

The Orphan Babes in him a Father know;

And he relieves the Widow’d Matron’s Woe:

Impartial Judge! he vindicates her Cauſe,

And from his ſacred Seat aſſerts his Laws.

The ſolitary Train he knows to bind

In mutual Tyes, and Unity of Mind;

The Captive he delivers from his Chain,

And leads him forth to Liberty again;

But dooms the curs’d Apoſtate to remain

In Thirſt and Famine on a ſandy Plain.

When thou, O God! all radiant at our Head,

Didſt thro’ the pathleſs Wild thy People lead,

Earth ſhook beneath; diſtill’d the ſable Show’r

From Heav’n above, before th’ approaching Pow’r:

Ev’n Sinai trembl’d on his ſolid Baſe,

Before the God, the God of Iſrael’s Race.

Thou H10v 188

Thou pour’ſt the plenteous Stores of timely Rain

To chear the thirſty Glebe of thy Domain:

Thy own peculiar People there reſides;

And there thy Bounty for the Poor provides.

He ſpake; a numerous Train attends the Word,

And loud proclaims the Dictates of the Lord.

The Kings and Captains fled in Haſte away:

While Women and Domeſtics ſhare the Prey.

Ye who ſo late, in deep Dejection ſpread

Among the ſully’d Caldrons made your Bed,

Shall yet ariſe, fair as the Wings that fold

The ſilver Dove, whoſe Plumes are ray’d with Gold.

When Kings for you th’ Almighty put to Flight,

Not Snow on Salmon was more lovely white.

The Hill of God like Baſan’s Hill aſcends,

High as the Hill which Baſan’s Verge defends:

Why leap you thus, ye Hills? on this alone

The Lord has fix’d his Manſion and his Throne.

Him twice then thouſand Chariots in Array,

The bright angelic Myriads him obey:

Preſides the Sov’reign, as of old he ſhin’d,

On Sinai’s Summit in the Blaze enſhrin’d.

While thou to Heav’n in Triumph doſt ariſe,

Thy reſcu’d Captives wait thee to the Skies:

The Tribute pay’d to thee, thou doſt beſtow

In Bounties to Mankind and ev’n thy Foe;

That God may dwell with Mortals here below.

Bleſs’d be the Pow’r, whoſe Goodneſs ev’ry Day

Does needful Aid and Benefits convey:

The God on whom we for Salvation wait;

And who commands the Avenues of Fate.

He H11r 189

He on their Head his Enemies ſhall wound;

Deep on their Head with flowing Treſſes crown’d:

Such is their Doom, who on the guilty Way

Proceeding farther more from Virtue ſtray.

Thus ſpoke the Lord. My own ſelected Train

Again I guide from Baſan’s fertile Plain;

Again from deep Receſſes of the Main.

To purple o’er thy Feet with hoſtile Blood,

While thy inſatiate Dogs ſhall lap the ſanguine Flood.

My Sov’reign Lord! what Majeſty Divine

Attends thy regal Progreſs to thy Shrine:

The venerable Prieſts, a vocal Choir,

Precede, behind reſounds the ſolemn Lyre;

Fair Virgins march amid the pious Throng,

And with the lively Timbrel raiſe the Song.

To God, aſſembled Tribes! your Praiſes ſing,

Sincerely flowing from the vital Spring.

There waits the rev’rend Patriarch’s youngeſt born,

And Chiefs which his diminiſh’d Race adorn;

There Juda, deſtin’d to a nobler Fate,

In Synod firſt, and firſt in princely State.

While Zebulon and Nephthali forſake

The Borders of their Sea reſembling Lake.

O Author of our Force! by thy Decree

Confirm the Work which was begun by thee.

Led by thy Fame, to Solyma’s high Dome

Suppliant ſhall tributary Monarchs come.

Break thou the Spear, and proſtrate on the Ground

The Maſters of the Herd for Strength renown’d;

Till each his Pride, and all his Rage reſign,

With wealthy Preſents from the ſilver Mine:

So H11v 190

So ſcatter thou the Bands, whoſe dire Delight

Is in the Waſte of Rapine and of Fight.

Then Princes ſhall attend from Ægypt’s Sands:

To God ſhall Æthiopia lift her Hands.

With early Zeal ye various Nations join,

And with united Voice extol the Pow’r Divine,

He on his glorious Chariot rides on high,

On the primæval Empyrean Sky:

Hark! how he ſpeaks; with formidable Sound

The dreadful Eccho Thunders all around.

Aſcribe to him Omnipotence alone

Who has in Iſrael fix’d his awful Throne:

But gather’d Clouds, his radiant State conceal,

And over his Tribunal Caſt a Veil.

How dreadful is the Majeſty Divine!

What Terrors wait around his ſacred Shrine.

’Tis Iſrael’s God with Glory and Succeſs

Adorns his Tribes: ’tis ours his Name to bleſs.

Psalm LXXII.

O God! do thou inſpire the Monarch’s Thought,

With Leſſons of unerring Juſtice fraught;

Derive the lineal Bleſſing to his Son,

And teach thy right Decrees to Solomon:

He to thy Tribes ſhall give impartial Laws,

And thus inſtructed guard the poor Man’s Cauſe.

Peace to the People ſhall the Mountains bring:

From humble Hills Integrity ſhall ſpring.

2 He, H12r 191

He, to their injur’d Innocence a Friend,

The Deſtitute and Orphan ſhall defend:

And in his Wrath the proud Oppreſſor rend.

Thee ſhall they rev’rence, while the golden Sun

His conſtant Race ſhall thro’ the Zodiac run,

Thee, while the various Moon with borrow’d Light

Shall Sandys. in a ſilver Orb her Horns unite,

Thee, while the reſtleſs Courſe of Time ſupplies

One Race expiring with another’s Riſe.

He from above ſhall come, as falling Dews

Upon the curling Fleece Gideon’s Fleece. their Drops diffuſe:

Or as the Show’rs of ſeaſonable Rain

With vegetative Humor ſteep the Plain

The Juſt ſhall proſper in his happy Days:

And Peace abundant till the Moon decays.

From Sea to Sea ſhall ſpread his ample Reign:

Here bounds Euphrates, there the Weſtern Main.

The Tribes who wander in the lonely Waſte,

Shall bow to him: his Foes before him caſt

Shall lick the Duſt. To him the Kings who reign

In foreign Iſles and o’er the diſtant Main,

And Kings who Arab and Sabæa ſway

Shall wealthy Tribute and Oblation pay.

The Monarchs all ſhall fall before him prone;

And Men their univerſal Sov’reign own.

He ſaves the Wretches who his Aid implore;

And guards the Unaſſiſted and the Poor:

In him they ſhall a gen’rous Patron find,

To reſcue them, and chear their anxious Mind;

From Fraud and Rabine he their Souls redeems,

And precious in his Sight their Blood eſteems.

Long H12v 192

Long ſhall he live; and from Arabia’s Store

Receive the Treaſures of her ſhining Ore:

To him ſhall all their Supplications pay,

And ſing his Praiſe with each returning Day.

From ſcatter’d Grain, which ſcarce the Graſp cou’d fill,

Shall golden Harveſt crown the ſummit Hill,

Trenbling with burthen’d Ears; ſo ſhake the Woods

When Lebanon with all his Foreſts nods:

And in the peaceful City ſhall be ſeen

Her People, chearful as the vernal Green.

His Name ſhall ever laſt, his deathleſs Name,

While Day’s bright Lamp renews his orient Flame:

And all Poſterity to him ſhall give

The Praiſe of Bleſſings they from him receive.

Let Iſrael’s God be bleſs’d, by whom alone

Such ſignal Acts and Miracles are done:

Bleſs’d be the Name, and Majeſty Divine,

And o’er the ſpacious World his Glory ſhine.


’Tis certain God to Iſrael does approve,

To Hearts untainted, his indulgent Love,

But from his Path my Feet were near to ſlide,

And my unſteady Steps to turn aſide:

At impious Men my Breaſt with Envy ſwell’d,

When proſp’rous Guilt in Triumph I beheld.

When I obſerv’d, from where it firſt begun,

On to the laſt their Thread ſo ſmoothly run:

2 While I1r 193

While inexhauſted Strength renews their Prime,

Firm and unconſcious of the Waſte of Time.

Exempt from adverſe Chance, they never know

That common Fate which Mortals undergo:

That univerſal Lot of human Woe.

Yet favour’d thus, with Inſolence they deck

As with an honorary Chain their Neck:

For this are they, as with a Mantle ſpread

To wrap them round, with Violence array’d.

Inclos’d with ſwelling Fat, their Eye-balls ſtart:

Their wealth exceeds the Wiſhes of the Heart.

To all around does their Contagion reach;

They menace Outrage, arrogant of Speech:

Their Mouth oppoſes Heav’n; their Cenſures go

Thro’ all the habitable World below.

For this the Vulgar courts them; whence they drain,

As from a plenteous Bowl, no ſlender Gain:

And yet, can God diſcover this they cry;

Is he Omniſcient whom they ſtile Moſt High?

Behold the Impious! what the World confers

In ſmooth Succeſs or wealthy Store is theirs.

Then I, alas! have purg’d my Heart in vain:

And purify’d my Hands from guilty Stain.

The live-long Day with Sorrow was I worn;

My anxious Doubts awaken’d with the Morn:

Almoſt my Sentence did with theirs agree;

Then to thy Children I injuſt ſhou’d be.

I labour’d long this Science to attain;

But found my Force unequal to the Pain:

Till I perplex’d the Sanctuary ſought,

Where I at length their final Doom was taught.

I How I1v 194

How thou haſt plac’d them, where, too apt to ſlide,

They totter on the Pinnacle of Pride:

And then from thence by thee are headlong thrown,

And into Depths of Ruin tumble down.

How in the momentary Glance of Thought,

They to a dreadful Fate at once are brought!

Like Viſions, which before the ſleeping Eye

Glide ſmoothly on, but with the Slumbers fly,

So thou, O Lord! the Phantom ſhalt diſdain,

When from Repoſe thou ſhalt ariſe again.

This Conflict long diſquieted my Heart;

My very Reins were thrill’d with piercing Smart:

My Senſe, when I adventur’d to diſpute

The Cauſe with thee, did not excell the Brute.

Yet by thy Side for ever I remain;

And me thou doſt by my right Hand ſuſtain:

To guide me here thy Coundil thou ſhalt give;

And after that to Glory ſhalt receive.

Whom but thyſelf have I in Heav’n above?

Or who on Earth with thee divides my Love?

No! tho’ my waſted Fleſh ſhou’d wear away,

My Heart with languid Pulſe forget to play,

Yet God it’s lively Vigour ſhall reſtore;

And be my Heritage for evermore.

Behold! they periſh all, from thee who rove,

And to thy Rivals yield their perjur’d Love.

’Tis beſt that I with near Attendance wait,

And truſt in God: and then I ſhall relate

His noble Acts in Sions lofty Gate.

Psalm I2r 195

Psalm LXXIV.

Why, Lord! ſo long from us doſt thou retire?

Againſt thy Paſture Sheep why glows thy Ire?

On thy Aſſembly turn thy Thought once more;

Thy antient Right, by Purchaſe thine of yore:

Thy Glebe redeem’d, and ſubject to thy Rod;

This Hill of Sion, once thy lov’d abode.

O! hither turn thy Steps! O hither haſte,

Or to repair, or to revenge the Waſte:

Where impious Foes reduce thy holy Fane

To Ruins, which for ever muſt remain.

Within thy Courts they raiſe an horrid Cry:

And fix their Standards in the Air to fly.

To lift the poliſh’d Ax, in former Days,

On ſtately Cedars, was the Workman’s Praiſe:

But now at once deſcending Axes found,

The weighty Hammer’s blunter Strokes rebound,

Till all the Artifice that did adorn

The gilded Fretwork from the Walls is torn.

Nor ſo content, their ſacrilegious Hands

Within thy Shrine have toſs’d the flaming Brands;

The Manſion where abode thy Name before

Have they profan’d, and levell’d with it’s Floor.

Their Hearts inſpir’d; let all to Ruin turn:

The Synagogues thro’ all the Land they burn.

I2 No I2v 196

No wonted Omens now our Proſpect chear:

Nor riſes now the viſionary Seer;

Nor one the dark Events of future Time to clear.

O God! how long ſhall thus thy Foe defame?

Muſt he for ever thus revile thy Name?

Why does thy Hand, as if contracted reſt?

Thy better Hand? O! draw it from thy Breaſt.

For God my Sov’reign is from Nature’s Birth:

The Author of Salvation thro’ the Earth.

By potent Might thou didſt the Sea divide;

And cruſh the Heads of Dragons in the Tide:

Thy Stroke the vaſt Leviathan confounds,

And cleaves his many Heads with mortal Wounds;

The People who along the Deſert ſtray

Upon the Coaſt, ſhall feaſt upon the Prey.

Expreſs’d by thee, from rocky Fiſſures glide

The Spring and Streams; while rapid Floods are dry’d.

Thine is the Day, with golden Luſtre bright;

And thine the ſpangled Purple of the Night:

The Dawn which opens with a roſy Gleam;

And the full Glories of the ſolar Beam.

Thou didſt the Globe with various Zones incloſe:

And mad’ſt the Summer’s Heat, and Winter’s Snows.

Remember, Lord! how thus thy Foes exclaim:

How ſtupid Idiots dare revile thy Name.

O! do not thou to cruel Hands reſign

This harmleſs tim’rous Turtle which is thine:

Nor to profound Oblivion doom the Poor.

Recall to mflawed-reproduction2 words Covenant once more:

For I3r 197

For in the Caves of Earth, remote from Day,

Relentleſs Murther watches for her Prey.

Ariſe, O Lord! to vindicate thy Cauſe;

Still muſt the Libertine blaſpheme thy Laws?

Neglect not then their Clamour bold and loud;

Nor the rude Tumult of the gath’ring Crowd.


Your Ear, my People! to my Dictates bend;

And to my Words your whole Attention lend:

My Lips I will in Parables unfold,

Involv’d in myſtic Sentences of old.

What mighty Deeds have we receiv’d from Fame!

And certain Knowledge has confirm’d the ſame;

Each to his Son, as by his Father taught

Shall tell the Wonders which the Lord has wrought:

To future Age ſhall ſend his Praiſes down,

And Miracles perform’d by him alone.

His Covenant confirm’d with Jacob ſtands;

To Iſrael thus he fix’d his high Commands:

This, with enjoin’d Obedience to our Sires,

To teach their future Children he requires;

That unborn Race, who wait the natal Day,

Shall this to a ſucceſſive Race convey,

To truſt in God, remember, and obey.

And not with impious Imitation trace

Their Anceſtors, a falſe obdurate Race,

Refuſing to direct their Hearts aright;

Nor wou’d they to the Lord their Souls unite.

I3 So I3v 198

So Ephraim’s Sons, tho’ arm’d they bore the Bow,

Yet turn’d their Backs, when they beheld the Foe:

From God’s diſclaim’d Alliance they withdraw;

Rejecting all Obedience to his Law;

His Benefits forgot, and Acts that prove,

Ev’n to their conſcious Eyes, his boundleſs Love;

The Prodigies their Fathers once beheld

In Egypt’s Land, in Zoan’s wond’ring Field.

He parts the Sea, and leads them thro’ the Tide;

And heaps the Billows high on either Side:

A pillar’d Cloud conducts them all the Day;

By Night the Blaze of Fire directs their Way.

He burſt the Rocks, in Wilds which never knew

The bubbling Fountain, or refreſhing Dew;

To quench their Thirſt he bad the Moiſture flow,

Plenteous from the vaſt Abyſs below:

Forth from the Rift the living Streams diſtill;

As ſwelling Floods their ſpacious Channel fill.

Yet ſtill their Crime proceeds; they ſtill conſpire

To tempt the Higheſt to vindictive Ire,

Amid the Solitude: For ſo ſuggeſts

The Diffidence of their ingrateful Breaſts.

The Deity they challenge, to ſupply

The Banquet for their wanton Luxury.

In open Accents now the Murmurs broke,

And thus of God in bold Defiance ſpoke.

Can he amid the thirſty Wild prepare

The Table charg’d with hoſpitable Fare?

He ſmote the Rock indeed, the Waters flow

From gaping Clefts, obedient to the Blow,

And all around in limpid Currents ſpread:

But can he add the Nouriſhment of Bread?

Or I4r 199

Or with the Food of ſolid Fleſh maintain

The Numbers of his faint exhauſted Train?

The Almighty heard, nor long delay’d his Ire;

In Jacob ſoon burſt forth the kindled Fire;

At Iſrael’s Race his Indignation roſe;

Who ſcorn’d on him their Credence to repoſe,

Diſtruſtful of the Aid which he beſtows.

Tho’ he to gath’ring Clouds command had giv’n,

And open’d wide the azure Gate of Heav’n,

To pour the Food, whoſe memorable Name,

Unheard before, from their Inquiry came.

Ethereal Heav’n produc’d the pearly Grain,

Such Dainties as angelic Boards ſuſtain

Were then indulg’d to Man; till Hunger ceas’d

Repreſs’d with Plenty of the copious Feaſt.

He ſent the rapid Eaſt beneath the Skies:

The ſofter South by his Commiſſion flies:

Thick as the Duſt deſcends the living Rain,

Of feather’d Fowls; or Sands beſide the Main.

Theſe thro’ the Limit of their Camp he ſtrow’d,

Around, and in the Midſt of their Abode.

They eat, their craving Appetite they fill,

For he indulg’d them to their utmoſt Will;

Nor was their Wiſh debarr’d: But while they preſs’d

With eager Teeth the yet unfiniſh’d Feaſt,

The Wrath of God ſurpriz’d them all, and ſlew

The wealthy Chiefs of that intemp’rate Crew:

And all the Choice of Iſrael’s Sons o’erthrew.

Yet they perſiſt to Sin; nor to believe

His ſignal Prodigies Attention give:

For this their Days in Vanity he wears;

And unavailing Labour waſtes their Years.

I4 Deſtroy’d I4v 200

Deſtroy’d by him, to ſeek him they return;

Their early Diligence prevents the Morn:

Then God their Strength they call to Mind once more;

That the moſt High their Freedom did reſtore.

While they on him with fawning Accents hung,

Falſe were their Lips, and faithleſs was their Tongue:

Nor was their Heart to him approv’d ſincere!

Nor did they to his Covenant adhere.

But him ſerene Benevolence inſpires;

Their Guilt he pardons, nor their Fate requires:

How oft from them his Indignation turn’d,

And his diminſh’d Ire with ſlacker Fury burn’d!

The frail Condition of our earthly Kind

To him appears but as the paſſing Wind

That comes no more, nor leaves its Track behind.

Him in the Wild how oft did they incenſe,

And grieve his heav’nly Mind with their Offence?

Retreating back they tempt the Pow’r divine;

And Iſrael’s Holy One they dar’d confine.

Forgetful of his Hand; and of the Day

When from their Foes he led them ſafe away:

When Ægypt once his Prodigies beheld;

The Wonders he perform’d in Zoan’s Field.

He bad the River roll a purple Store:

They pine for Thrift, and loath the taſted Gore.

At his Command the putrid Air ſupplies

The cluſt’ring Legions of envenom’d Flies,

With Stings infix’d to riot in their Blood:

With theſe, the noiſy Frogs, aquatic Brood,

Annoy’d I5r 201

Annoy’d their fainting Senſe. In vain appear

The globous Buds in Promiſe of the Year:

Upon the ravag’d Sweets the Canker feeds;

The Locuſt to the lab’ring Hind ſucceeds.

In vain the curling Vines are hung around

With ſwelling Gems; for with a rattling Sound

The marble Tempeſt bears them to the Ground.

Pinch’d by untimely Winter ſcatter’d lye

The juicy Berries of a ſanguin Dye:

The weighty Hail upon their Herds he threw;

To blaſt their Flocks the ruddy Lightning flew,

And hiſſing Bolts with flaming Sulphur blue.

He pours upon them his Revenge ſevere;

Fury, and Conſternation, and Deſpair:

And to malignant Angels gives Command

To bear his Terrors thro’ the guilty Land.

He gave his Anger way; nor deign’d to ſave

Their ſinking Spirit from the gaping Grave:

Their Cattle firſt the dire Deſtruction find,

By him to waſteful Peſtilence reſign’d.

And now a deeper Wound the Ægyptians mourn,

In mingl’d Fun’rals of their eldeſt born:

The Choice of Youth, and who in Strength excell’d,

Wherever Ham’s deteſted Offſpring dwell’d.

But, as the Shepherd to the flow’ry Meads

Conducts his Flock, his People forth he leads:

Secure and fearleſs they, their March he guides;

But whelms their Foes beneath the ruſhing Tides:

On to the Limits of his ſacred Land,

This Mountain purchas’d by his own right Hand:

From thence the Natives he before them drives:

And by the Line to them Poſſeſſion gives.

I5 Pro- I5v 202

Proportion’d; thus the Tribes of Iſrael dwell’d

In their Abodes whom he from thence expell’d.

Yet to the Trial the Supreme they dare;

Nor think his Inſtitutes deſerve their Care.

Now, turn’d to Flight, they meaſure back their Pace,

And prove the faithleſs Authors of their Race:

So burſts the Bow, and to the Archer’s Scope

Deceitful, fruſtrates his eluded Hope.

Forbidden Altars on the Hills on high,

And ſculptur’d Gods provoke his Jealouſy.

This when the Lord had heard, his Anger grew

To ſterneſt Hate of Iſrael’s impious Crew:

The Tent of Shiloh he abandon’d then;

The lov’d Pavilion he had fix’d with Men.

Their Strength he then reſign’d to ſervile Bands:

His The Ark. Glory to the bold Invader’s Hands.

The People, once his own, he doom’d to feel

Th’ inſatiate Fury of the deathful Steel;

When on his own Domain burſt forth his Ire:

Their blooming Youth in cruel Flames expire;

In bridal Song no more the Virgin hears

Her Praiſes chaunted by her late Compeers.

Fall’n by the Sword the holy Prieſts lye ſlain:

The Widows fix’d in ſilent Woe remain.

Then, as from quiet Sleep, aroſe the Lord:

As when ſome Hero finds his Strength reſtor’d

By Spirits when the gen’rous Grape ſupplies,

In ecchoing Shouts his lofty Voice he tries.

Deep I6r 203

Deep in their Back his Enemies he wounds:

And with eternal Infamy confounds.

He Joſeph’s Tents refuſ’d; nor him preferr’d,

On whom the Patriarch’s Bleſſing wilful err’d:

But Juda’s favour’d Tribe, his Choice approv’d;

And Sion’s holy Mountain, his belov’d.

His Temple there he rais’d, to emulate

The lofty Structures of imperial State:

And laid the firm Foundation deep below;

Strong as the Earth, no Change to undergo.

His Choice on David fix’d, he took the Swain

From Flocks, and Folds, and from the rural Plain:

From following Mothers of the fleecy Breed,

The People of his Heritage to feed.

His faithful Heart, ſincerely he apply’d,

For them the plenteous Paſture to provide:

And with experienc’d Skill their Ways to guide.

Psalm LXXIX.

Behold! O God! behold the cruel Train

Of ſtern Barbarians ravage thy Domain:

Behold thy Shrine profan’d, and when on high

The Tow’rs of Salem glitter’d on the Sky,

A mighty Waſte, and Pile of Ruins lye.

Thy Servants lifeleſs Carcaſſes are giv’n

To ev’ry greedy Vulture of the Heav’n:

Thy holy Saints without Interment lay,

And ev’ry Beaſt of Earth devour’d the Prey.

I6 As I6v 204

As falling Rains increaſe the ſwelling Flood,

So Sion floated with her Children’s Blood:

Nor dar’d a pitying Friend upon the Bier

Compoſe the Dead, or fun’ral Rites confer.

Stung with Reproaches of our Foes we mourn:

To bord’ring Realms a Mark of public Scorn.

Shall Length of Time, O Lord! thy Ire aſſuage?

Or ſhall for ever glow thy jealous Rage

Like waſteful Flames, and unextinguiſh’d burn?

Thy kindled Wrath on other Objects turn:

On Nations ignorant of thee to fall;

And Realms which never on thy Name did call.

For to their cruel Rage is Jacob made

A Prey; and his Abode in Ruins lay’d.

But O! remember not, from former Times

Our paſt Offences; but forgive our Crimes:

With ſoft Compaſſion, e’re it is too late,

Behold, and raiſe us from our fall’n Eſtate.

O God of our Salvation! yet once more,

For thy Renown, our Liberty reſtore:

And cleanſe our Guilt, as we thy Name implore.

With impious Taunt why ſhould the Heathen cry

Where? where is now their boaſted Deity?

May he, ſo known, conſpicuous in their Sight,

Upon themſelves his Servants Blood requite.

O! let the mournful Sighs before thee come

Of Captives, deſtin’d to receive their Doom:

And prove, by Pow’r in their Deliv’rance ſhown,

That Life and Death are in thy Hand alone.

But to our Neighbours, ſeven times multiply’d

Into their Boſom recompenſe their Pride:

Who thee with impious Scoff have dar’d deride.

So I7r 205

So we thy People, of thy Paſture we

The choſen Sheep, ſhall render Thanks to thee;

Nor ever ceaſe: To thee we mean to pay

The pious Hymn, while Ages roll away.


O God of my Salvation! all the Day

To thee, and all the Night to thee I pray:

Admit my Cries before thee to appear;

And to my Supplication bend thine Ear.

With Woe my Soul is fraught; my fainting Breath

Approaches nearly to the Gates of Death:

I ſeem like one who to the nether Shade

Deſcends; in Vigour and in Force decay’d.

Where all, whom Death reſtores to Liberty,

Slain in the Grave, and unremember’d lye:

Theſe from the Living, by a fatal Blow,

Thy Hand divides. And thou haſt caſt me low;

In deepeſt Caverns underneath the Ground,

Obſcure with Night, and in the vaſt Profound.

Thy dread Diſpleaſure preſſes on my Soul;

And o’er my Head the raging Tempeſts roll.

My deareſt Friends, or who were ſuch of late,

Haſt thou remov’d, or turn’d their Love to Hate:

Confin’d in Dungeons, and oppreſs’d with Chains,

No Hope of Liberty to me remains.

With pining Grief my waſted Eyes decay:

To thee I ſpread my Hands, to thee I pray;

As each revolving Sun renews the Day.

For I7v 206

For wilt thou thy ſtupendous Wonders ſhow

To the pale Nations of the Dead below?

What Pow’r of Art, or Miracle ſhall raiſe

Their vaniſh’d Being to recite thy Praiſe?

Who in the Tomb ſhall tell thy Mercy’s Fame?

Or thy Veracity in Death proclaim?

Or ſhall eternal Night thy Marvels boaſt?

Or ſhow thy Juſtice on the diſmal Coaſt

Where Thought itſelf is in Oblivion loſt?

But thee have I implor’d; with early Cries,

My Pray’r attends thee, e’re the Morn ariſe:

O! wherefore doſt thou thus my Soul repell?

And o’er thy Preſence caſt a cloudy Veil?

Thus have I languiſh’d from my tender Years,

And inſtant Death before my Eyes appears,

Preſs’d with thy Wrath, and frantic with my Fears

Thy Indignation, and the conſcious Dread

Of heav’nly Vengeance, overwhelms my Head;

Like rolling Billows, and the ruſhing Tide,

They break above, and pour on ev’ry Side:

In vain on Kinſman; or on Friend I call;

For univerſal Darkneſs hides them all.

Psalm XC.

Thou, Lord! haſt been our ſure Repoſe,

Our ſacred Refuge from our Foes;

Since aged Time his Courſe began,

And thro’ ſucceſſive Periods ran.

Before I8r 207

Before the Mountain’s early Birth,

Before the Structure of the Earth,

Before the univerſal Ball

Emerg’d from nothing at thy Call,

Thou, prſent Godhead! doſt ſurvey

An unbegun, an endleſs Day.

Mankind by thee reſign’d to Doom,

Thy Voice recalls them from the Tomb:

The Series of a thouſand Years,

To thee that narrow Space appears,

Which bounded laſt diurnal Light:

Or as an Hour of Watch by Night:

As rapid Floods, which roll away

To loſe their Water in the Sea;

As Viſions of the ſlumbr’ing Eye,

Which vaniſh when the Slumbers fly:

Or as the Graſs they ſhall conſume;

The Morning ſees the Verdure bloom,

Which, e’er the Stars of Eav’n ariſe,

Falls by the Scythe, and fades and dries.

Such is our frail uncertain Age;

Sad Victims of celeſtial Rage!

Thy Indignation waſtes our Years

In dire Anxieties and Fears.

Our Crimes to thy Tribunal brought

The ſecret Act, and conſcious Thought,

Are open all to thy Survey,

Where thy bright Preſence gilds the Day.

Our Days in thy Diſpleaſure fail:

Our Years are ended like a Tale.

Sev’n Decads does the annual Sun

To limit our Duration run:

Perhaps I8v 208

Perhaps with firmer Strength we gain

One Decad more of Toil and Pain;

But ſoon the rapid Hours run on;

And the Reſerve of Life is gone.

O! why preſume we to inquire

The Force of thy tremendous Ire?

Whoſe Terrors we ſo deeply find,

Impreſs’d upon the wounded Mind.

Nor let us calculate in vain

Our Years that paſs, or what remain,

But thence inſtruct us, to impart

The Care of Wiſdom to our Heart.

Return, O Lord! but O how ſlow!

And mitigate thy Servants woe.

O! Satisfy our eager Senſe

With undelay’d Benevolence:

That pious Gratitude, and Joy,

May our ſucceſſive Days employ,

An Age of Happineſs beſtow,

To recompenſe our former Woe.

Let thy dread Acts thy Servants grace;

Thy Glory bleſs our future Race.

On us thou Majeſty Divine!

Conſpicuous in Effulgence ſhine:

And let our Toils, in thee begun,

By thy auſpicious Aid be done.

Psalm I9r 209

Psalm XCI.

Who in Retirement of the Higheſt dwells,

Him with impervious Shade th’ Almighty veils.

Thee I invoke, my Refuge! my Defence!

Unſhaken Tow’r of firm Omnipotence!

On him my Truſt I place, whoſe guardian Care

Is fix’d to free me from the Fowler’s Snare;

And dire Contagion of the tainted Air.

Thee, hov’ring o’er thy Head, his Plumes ſhall hide;

Secure ſhalt thou beneath his Wings abide:

His Truth ſhall drive thy Dangers all repell’d

By the broad Orb of her protecting Shield.

Thy peaceful Mind no Terror ſhall affright;

When the wan Spectres glide along by Night:

Nor thee the formidable Shafts which fly

To carry Fate thro’ the diurnal Sky.

Nor thee the Venom of the direful Peſt,

Whoſe gloomy March enſanguin’d Clouds inveſt:

From Realm to Realm tho’ ſwift Deſtruction run,

And Crowds expire beneath the noon-tide Sun.

A thouſand by thy Side ſhall heap the Plain,

At thy right Hand ſhall fall ten thouſand ſlain;

Thou, only thou, inviolate remain.

Yet ſhall thy Eyes the heav’nly Vengeance view:

The Retribution of the impious Crew:

For I9v 210

For on the Lord thy conſtant Hope rely’d,

Within his rocky Fortreſs to reſide.

Reſt thou ſecure no adverſe Chance to meet:

No waſteful Plague ſhall reach thy happy Seat.

He, with diſtinguiſh’d Charge expreſsly given,

Conſigns thee to the Miniſtry of Heav’n:

With watchful Diligence to tend thy Ways;

Thee gently wafted in their Arms to raiſe,

Leſt, prominent above the level Ground,

The pointed Stone thy tender Foot ſhou’d wound.

Beneath thy Foot the drowſy Aſp Super Aſpidem et Baſiliſcum ambulabis, et conculcabis leomena et draconem. Vers. Vulg. V. B. ſhall lye,

And regal Baſiliſc with baneful Eye;

Bold ſhalt thou tread, beneath thy Steps impreſs’d,

The Lion’s brindled Mane, and Dragon’s turgid Creſt.

His faithful Heart my heav’nly Love reſpires,

With holy Ardor, and with pure Deſires:

For this will I relieve, and raiſe to Fame,

This pious Vot’ry of my ſacred Name.

Invok’d by him with ſupplicating Cry,

I chear his Sorrows with a prompt Reply:

My Preference in his dubious Toils is known

An Aid confeſs’d; the Benefit I crown

With ſure Deliv’rance, and with high Renown.

To Nature’s full Demand ſhall he be bleſt

With long extended Days and peaceful Reſt.

Psalm I10r 211

Psalm XCIII.

The Lord, a mighty Monarch, reigns,

In Robes of State himſelf he dreſt:

The Zone of Fortitude reſtrains

The Folds of his imperial Veſt.

This penſile habitable World

He balanc’d in the liquid Space:

Which by no Force ſhall e’er be hurl’d

From its determin’d deſtin’d Place.

Thy Throne was founded e’er the Earth

Was made; or rolling Ages run:

Anteriour thou to Nature’s Birth,

Primæval Effence, unbegun!

Hark, Lord! the ſwelling Torrent roars;

The Flood exhorts the boiling Main;

Old Ocean ſummons all the Stores

His ample Magazines contain.

What tho’ the Surges foam and roll,

And with impetuous Tumult rave?

The Lord reſides above the Pole,

More dreadful than the raging Wave.

On thy Decrees does Truth await:

And, Lord! in thy eternal Dome,

So to adorn thy regal State,

Fair Piety has fix’d her Home.

Psalm I10v 212

Psalm C.

Ye Nations all! whoſe various Climates glow

With ſultry Suns, or freeze with ſolid Snow:

The Heav’n’s eternal Law your Bounds divides,

With Range of Mountains or reſounding Tides,

Let pious Joy your grateful Boſoms raiſe;

And join in Hymns of univerſal Praiſe.

Revere th’ omnipotent, eternal King:

Parent divine, of Nature ſacred Spring.

No heav’n-born Race, nor ſelf-exiſtent we;

His Word from nothing ſummon’d us to be:

His People we, his Flock peculiar Share

The plenteous Herbage, and the Paſtor’s Care.

With humble Joy and Veneration wait

To tread his Courts, and to approach his Gate:

Adore the ſacred Name, from whoſe Diſpoſe

An inexhauſted Stream of Bounty flows.

While Ages roll his Mercy ſhall remain;

No Period limits his extended Reign:

His Truth ſhall laſt, while with ſucceſſive Birth

The Race of Mortals ſhall renew the Earth.

Psalm CII.

Accept my Supplication, heav’nly Lord!

To my Complaint a gentle Ear afford:

Nor I11r 213

Nor in the Time of my Diſtreſs conceal

Thy ſacred Preſence with a cloudy Veil.

When in the Days of Woe to thee I cry,

Incline thine Ear and give a prompt Reply.

My waſted Days in pining Sorrow wear;

Like riſing Smoke which vaniſhes in Air.

My ſolid Bones with ſecret Grief decay,

As ſmooth’ring Brands in Embers fall away.

My wounded heart, to deep Dejection caſt,

Withers, like Verdure by a piercing Blaſt:

No needful Food invites my ſickly Taſte.

My Breaſt is tortur’d with inceſſant Groans:

And ſcarce my Skin inveſts my ſtarting Bones.

Like penſive Swans in ſedgy Lakes I moan;

Or Birds of Night who dwell in Wilds alone:

As widow’d Sparrows on the Roof deplore,

When their lov’d Mates return to them no more.

While, all the live long Day, my Foes engage

In vile Reproach, and Vows of frantic Rage.

My Palate, now with bitter aſhes fed,

Forgets the vital Nouriſhment of Bread:

No gen’rous Wine my flowing Goblet fills,

But the ſalt Stream, which from my Eyes diſtills.

Such Grief thy Indignation does require;

And ſuch Effects attends thy dreadful Ire:

For thou haſt rais’d me, for a ſurer Blow,

And caſt me then precipitous below.

My fleeting Days inſenſibly decline,

Like creeping Shadows from the horal Line:

The Vigour of my languid Prime decays,

Like Graſs that fades beneath the ſolar Rays.

But I11v 214

But thy Exiſtence, Lord! ſhall ever laſt:

No Flux of Time ſhall thy Memorial waſte.

Yet ſhalt thou riſe, and in Indulgence great,

Shall grace thy Sion, once thy favour’d Seat:

’Tis now the Time her Glory to reſtore,

Confirm’d by Fate to this auſpicious Hour.

Her ruin’d Heaps thy Servants Thoughts employ:

Her Duſt inſpires a melancholy Joy.

O Lord! the Nations ſhall revere thy Name;

And Earth’s proud Monarchs tremble at thy Fame.

When Sion’s God again her Walls ſhall raiſe,

And there conſpicuous in his Glory blaze.

He hears the Pray’r of the neglected Train:

Nor ſhall they ſue to him and ſue in vain.

This Roll of laſting Record ſhall engage

The fix’d Attention of the future Age:

A Race unborn, and to the Light unknown,

With joyous Hymns the Deity ſhall own.

He from his Sanctuary far on high

Caſts down his Eyes; the Lord from yonder Sky

Beholds the Globe of Earth beneath him lye.

He, with relenting Pity, hears complain

The groaning Captives; and he breaks their Chain,

Whom their ſtern Foes have deſtin’d to be ſlain.

The ſacred Name in Sion they ſhall praiſe;

Jeruſalem ſhall ſound with myſtic Lays:

While various Nations ſhall in Union join,

And diſtant Realms, to ſerve the Pow’r Divine.

But he exhauſts my Strength, and checks my Race:

And bounds my Days in more contracted Space.

2 My I12r 215

My God! ſaid I, O! take me not away,

Snatch’d from the full Meridian of my Day:

Thy Years for ever laſt, unconſcious of Decay.

Thou, at primæval Nature’s early Birth,

Haſt lay’d the deep Foundations of the Earth:

Above the azure Veil of Heav’n expands,

And is the beauteous Fabric of thy Hands.

Yet they ſhall periſh, thou remain the ſame;

And Age, like worn Attire, ſhall waſte their Frame:

For thou ſhall lay them as a Robe aſide,

And with their Beauty vaniſhes their Pride.

Thou, only thou no Change ſhalt ever know;

Thy Years alone without a Period flow.

A Courſe of long Succeſſion ſhall maintain,

The favour’d Line of thy devoted Train:

And in thy Preſence ſhall the Race remain.

Psalm CIV.

Bless thou uthe Lord, my Soul! O Pow’r divine!

My Sov’reign Dread! what Majeſty is thine!

With Honor and imperial Greatneſs dreſt,

And pureſt Rays compoſe thy lucid Veſt.

Heav’n, like a Veil, his ſecret ſeat enfolds,

The liquid Chryſtalline it’s Beams upholds.

Upon the Chariot of the Clouds he ſails,

And treads the Pennons of the ſoaring Gales.

In Rays of Æther and celeſtial Fire,

He cloaths his Miniſters and Angel Choir.

He I12v 216

He fix’d the Earth as on a ſolid Baſe,

Self-pois’d to reſt; nor ever change it’s Place.

Thou erſt o’erſpreadſt it with the brooding Deep,

As with a Robe; above the Mountain ſteep

The Billows roll’d: But at thy Cheek they fly;

And when thy Thunder rattles thro’ the Sky.

Precipitate their headlong Flight. They now

Climb the ſteep Summit of the Mountain’s Brow:

Now thor’ the Dales with prone Deſcent they pour;

To ſeek the Place where thou hadſt form’d before

The mighty Baſin for their confluent Store.

With Barriers fix’d their Rage thou doſt reſtrain:

Not to be Paſs’d to drown the Land again.

He thro’ the Vallies ſends the ſtreaming Rills,

Whoſe bubbling Fountains Ooze among the Hills.

Beaſts of the Field upon the Margin meet,

With cooling Draughts to quench their inward Heat;

The ſavage Aſs his fiery Thirſt allays:

Above, the vocal Birds, among the Sprays,

Tune their wild Notes. From his celeſtial Bow’rs,

He on the Hills the genial Moiſture ſhow’rs.

So with thy Bounty fill’d, does Earth produce

Graſs for the Herds, and Plants for human Uſe:

So haſt thou caus’d the fertile Globe to bear,

The gen’rous Grape, the Heart of Man to chear;

To glad his Countenance the fragrant Oil,

And Bread, Support of neceſſary Toil,

The ſacred Trees with vital Sap are fed;

The Cedars, planted by the Lord, to ſpread

O’er Lebanon the Umbrage of their Head.

Upon their Summit next the chirping Choir:

And Storks upon the Pine’s aerial Spire.

The K1r 217

The Mountain Goats o’er Precipices bound;

A ſafe Retirement from the Hunter found:

And deep the Conies hide in rocky Ground.

He ſet the ſilver Moon, with various Face,

To mark th’ alternate Stages of her Race:

He taught the Sun, at Cloſe of Day, to ſink

Beneath the blue Horizon’s doubtful Brink.

Thou call’ſt for Darkneſs; then the Shades ariſe,

And Night regains the Empire of the Skies:

Then, in the friendly Shelter of the Gloom,

Rouz’d from their Laires, the ſhaggy Sylvans roam;

The Lyon’s Whelps in ſearch of Quarry roar,

Yet they from God their Suſtenance implore.

No ſooner o’er the Earth the ruddy Sun

Exalts his Orb, but all away they run,

Till in their hollow Dens, obſcure and deep,

On a promiſcuous Heap they couch to ſleep.

But, with the Day, to Man returns again

His conſtant Portion of appointed Pain

And deſtin’d Labour; till the Ev’ning’s Cloſe

Refreſh his weary Limbs with due Repoſe.

O Lord! how num’rous for our Wonder call

Thy Operations, form’d in Wiſdom all!

Thy Wealth diffus’d o’er this terreſtrial Ball!

Nor o’er the Earth alone, the ſpacious Main

Partakes; whoſe vaſt extended Tracts contain

A Race tranſcending Number: Part a Fry

Scarce worth a Name, or obvious to the Eye;

Part of enormous Bulk. There o’er the Tide

To diſtant Ports adventrous Veſſels ride.

There the Leviathan thy Pleaſure forms,

To dance upon the Waves, and ſport in Storms.

K All K1v 218

All theſe, thy Creatures, thee alone await,

Of thee, in Seaſon, to receive their Meat:

By thee diſpens’d they gather up their Food,

All from thy lib’ral Hand ſuffic’d with Good.

Thy Face averted, deſtitute they mourn:

Their Breath by thee recall’d, they dye, they turn,

Again to native Duſt――

Thy Spirit iſſuing forth, with ſecond Birth,

A new Creation ſhall adorn the Earth.

The Glory of the Lord for ever laſts:

And in his Works ſincere Delight he taſtes.

Earth he beholds; it trembles on it’s Poles:

The Hills he touches, and above them rolls

Involving Smoak. While the congenial Flame

Of vital Spirit animates my Frame,

I to the Lord will conſecrate my Lays:

While I exiſt my God I mean to Praiſe,

In Thoughts of him to Ecſtaſy reſign’d

So ſhall the Deity rejoice my Mind.

O! may the Guilty from the World decay!

O! may the Impious ever waſte away!

Bleſs thou the Lord, my Soul! and yet again

With Alleluias end the ſacred Strain.

Psalm CV.

O Celebrate the Lord! invoke his Name;

His mighty Deeds to heathen Realms proclaim:

From him derive the Hymn, the ſolemn Song;

Of his ſtupendous Acts your Speech prolong.

Then K2r 219

Then triumph in his Name, for ever bleſt;

Who ſeek the Lord, let Joy inſpire their Breaſt.

The Lord and his Omnipotence explore:

Require his ſacred Preſence ever-more.

Preſerve in Memory his wondrous Deed,

His Signs, and Judgment by his Mouth decreed.

O ye of Abraham his Servant’s Race;

Ye who from his elected Jacob trace

Your favour’d Line! the Lord our God is he;

And all the World ſubmits to his Decree.

His Covenant he ſtill in Mind retains;

His Promiſe, which immutable remains,

While thouſand Ages roll: which he of yore

To Abraham engag’d, to Iſaac ſwore;

The ſame he gave to Jacob in Command,

The League with Iſrael ever fix’d to ſtand.

This Land, he ſaid, of Canaan ſhall be thine;

This your paternal Portion I aſſign.

Tho’ yet but few in Number they were found;

A ſlender Train, and then on foreign Ground:

For then they wander’d thro’ the bord’ring States,

In various Exiles, led by various Fates.

He ſuffer’d none to injure them; but mov’d

In their Defence, ev’n Monarchs he reprov’d.

Nor my Anointed touch; nor violate

Whom I have ſent, the Meſſengers of Fate.

He calls; obſequious to the ſtern Command,

Commiſſion’d Famine deſolates the Land.

No longer the Support of corny Grain,

Deſtroy’d by him, does human Life maintain.

He ſends his Harbinger before, the Youth

Adorn’d with Beauty, Chaſtity and Truth:

K2 To K2v 220

To baſe unworthy Slavery betray’d,

With Fetters gall’d, in Chains of Iron laid,

Which pierc’d his Soul; till the celeſtial Word,

In deſtin’d Hour, his Innocence explor’d.

Then ſent the King, who there the Sceptre bore,

To break his Chains, and Freedom to reſtore:

Exalted him his regal Pow’r to ſhare;

And truſted all his Treaſures to his Care.

Permitted him his Princes to reſtrain,

And Wiſdom to his Senate to explain.

To Ægypt then the rev’rend Iſrael came,

And Jacob ſojourn’d in the Land of Ham.

To Numbers there he caus’d their Tribes to grow;

And gave them Force ſuperior to their Foe:

For this dire Envy animates their Breaſt,

With faithleſs Wiles his Servants to moleſt.

His Servant Moſes then, with Aaron join’d,

His ſacred Choice Ambaſſadors deſign’d:

Diſclos’d in public View his Signals ſtand

By theſe; his Prodigies in Ammon’s Land.

Night he commanded from the nether Shade;

And all the wide Horizon Night array’d:

Nor then his Oracles they diſobey’d.

Their worſhipp’d Stream he turns to putrid Blood:

While dying roll upon the goary Flood,

Their Monſter-Gods, Milton. and Terrors of the Nile,

The River-Horſe Ibid. and ſealy Crocodile.

Then to the Frogs he gave a wond’rous Birth;

An upſtart Offspring of the teeming Earth:

Theſe thro’ their Palaces in Numbers ſpread,

And lodge themſelves upon the royal Bed.

He K3r 221

He ſpake; and inſtant as the Word repair

Black Swarms of Flies to darken all the Air:

Thro’ all the Region he the Inſects brings

To wound their Bodies with envenom’d Stings.

In Place of Rain he gives them pond’rous Hail;

While on the Ground the fiery Meteors trail.

In vain the Vines their ſwelling Gems produce,

And rip’ning Figs digeſt their cruder Juice:

He blaſts them all; and ſpreads the Country round

With levell’d Woods, all ſhatter’d on the Ground.

He calls; the Locuſts, and a countleſs Band

Of waſteful Cankers, poſting o’er the Land,

To Pillage deſtin’d it’s Increaſe invade:

Devour the tender Plant, and ſpringing Blade.

Wounded by him, thro’ all their Confines dy’d

The blooming youth, their Parents eldeſt Pride.

His own he forth conducts, enrich’d with Store

Of ſilver Vaſes, and of golden Ore:

Not one in all their Kindred cou’d they find

Whoſe feeble Force with Sickneſs was declin’d.

Th’ Ægyptians now with Joy their March beheld:

So had their Fear their Avarice expell’d.

Above a cloudy Canopy he ſpread:

And pointed Flames their nightly Journey led.

He to their Wiſh the taſteful Quail accords;

And with the Bread of Heav’n ſupplies their Boards;

He cleaves the Rock; the copius Streams diffuſe

O’er the parch’d Sands, as ample Rivers Uſe.

For he what ſacred Ties his Promiſe bind,

And Abraham his Servant calls to mind.

With Joy his reſcu’d People forth he guides;

With Triumph his Elect: and he divides

K3 To K3v 222

To them of heathen Realms the conquer’d Soil;

A rich Inheritance in other’s Toil.

Yet limited, that with religious Awe

They keep his Statutes, and obſerve his Law.

Psalm CVI.

In Alleluias all your Voices join;

With grateful Praiſe confeſs the Lord benign:

No Period e’er ſhall his Indulgence bound,

While Ages meaſure their eternal Round.

His mighty Deeds what Mortal can relate?

His equal Praiſes who ſhall celebrate?

How happy they who Juſtice ſtill attend,

And all their Hours in Acts of Virtue ſpend!

Remember me, O Lord! that I may find

What Favour for thy People is deſign’d:

With ſalutary Preſence viſit me;

That I the Bliſs of thy Elect may ſee

Partake the Joys of thy peculiar Train,

And ſhare the Triumphs of thy own Domain.

We to our Anceſtors in Guilt ſucceed:

In perpetrated Crimes, and impious Deed.

Our Sires beheld, with inattentive Thought,

Thy iterated Signs in Ægypt wrought;

Nor treaſur’d in their recollected Senſe

The boundleſs Stores of thy Benevolence;

But where the Sea, the Erythræan flows,

Againſt thee there in bold Rebellion roſe.

Yet K4r 223

Yet them he ſav’d, to vindicate his Name:

And his Omnipotence confirm’d to Fame.

Reprov’d by him, the Sea forgets to flow;

And bare appears the ſolid Soil below;

By him conducted, thro’ the Deep they paſs’d,

As thro’ the Regions of the ſandy Waſte.

He then redeem’d them from the Tyrant’s Hand;

And ſav’d them from their Enemy’s Command:

While all their Foes beneath the gulphy Wave

Lie whelm’d; not one eſcapes the watry Grave.

His Oracles did then their Credence gain:

His Praiſe they ſung in an alternate Strain.

But ſoon to dark Oblivion they reſign’d

His Acts; nor to his Council bend their Mind.

As thro’ the dreary Solitude they go,

To mad Exceſs their wanton Wiſhes grow;

And with their inſolent Demands they try,

Amid the Wild, to brave the Deity:

He grants the Boon; but thus the Grant controlls,

That meager Atrophy ſhou’d waſte their Souls.

Yet in the Camp again, with Envy fir’d,

Againſt their patient Leader they conſpir’d;

And Aaron, venerable by the Sign

Of Conſecration to the Pow’r Divine.

The gaping Earth, down to the Centre cleaves,

And Rebel Dathan to the Shades receives;

Then, cloſing o’er their Heads, it’s Bars reſtrain

His guilty Brother, and ſeditious Train.

The ſudden Flame amid their Crew aſpires:

The Impious periſh in devouring Fires.

At Horeh’s Foot an imag’d Calf they made:

And to the molden Gold their Adoration paid.

K4 Thus K4v 224

Thus their inverted Glory they deface;

And with the Semblance of an Ox diſgrace:

An Animal, who knows no higher Good

Than ruminating on his graffy Food.

Their Saviour, God, they baniſh’d from their Thought

And all his mighty Deeds in Ægypt wrought:

Stupendous Prodigies in Ammon’s Land;

And Signs terrific on the Red-Sea Strand.

Then he pronounc’d, that he decreed to fall

The univerſal Ruin on them all:

But Moſes, his Elect, the Breach maintains

And from the reſt the iſſuing Wrath detains;

That Wrath celeſtial, which prepar’d to fall,

With univerſal Ruin menac’d all.

Yet ev’n that happy Region they diſdain’d;

Nor now his Promiſe their Belief obtain’d:

They ſpread the Murmurs of their Diſcontent,

In mutual Confidence from Tent to Tent;

Too obſtinate Attention to afford

To monitory Dictates of the Lord.

He rais’d againſt them his obteſting Hand,

To whelm them in the ſolitary Land:

To drive their Progeny diſpers’d and hurl’d

Thro’ barb’rous Nations, and the diſtant World.

To Phegor next they join’d themſelves; and fed

On the polluted Victims of the Dead:

Their wild Inventions his Revenge inflame;

And on them ſwift the dire Deſtruction came.

Then Phineas roſe, and by Atonement made

With guilty Blood, the ſpreading Miſchief ſtay’d:

This K5r 225

This Act imputed Righteouſneſs ſhall crown,

From Age to Age recording his Renown.

His dreadful Anger yet again they try’d;

There where the Waters of Contention glide;

Then Moſes found, by ſad Experiences taught,

The Prince to ſuffer for the People’s Fault;

For him ſo far their Murmurs did provoke,

That from his Lips unguarded Paſſion broke,

Yet did they not deſtroy the gentile Train,

So did the Mandate of the Lord ordain:

Accurs’d Alliance ſoon their Blood unites;

And leads to imitate forbidden Rites.

The imag’d Gods their ſervile Homage ſhare:

Which often prov’d their Detriment and Snare.

Unhappy Victims! at the Dæmon’s Call,

Their blooming Youth, and faireſt Virgins fall;

All ſmear’d with filial Gore the Parents ſtand

Of Innocents, who by the dire Command

Of Canaan’s Idols purple all the Land.

They, with the Tincture of their Deeds embrew’d,

Their Fictions with adult’rous Love purſu’d.

Againſt his People this incens’d the Lord;

Who now his own Inheritance abhorr’d.

He then reſign’d them to the cruel Hand

Of heathen Nations; to the hard Command

Of hoſtile Lords: To their oppreſſive Foe,

Beneath the Yoak of Servitude they bow.

He oft revil’d them; they as many Times

Provok’d him, and were humbled for their Crimes:

He yet regards their Sorrows; nor denies

A gentle Audience to their ſuppliant Cries,

K5 His K5v 226

His Covenant again recall’d to mind,

He in his num’rous Mercies, grows more kind:

The Victors to Compaſſion he incilin’d.

Preſerve us, Lord! our God whom we adore!

From foreign Lands our ſcatter’d Race reſtore:

Again aſſembled to thy ſacred Name

Our Thanks to pay; and triumph in thy Fame.

Bleſt be the Lord whom Iſrael’s Sons adore,

From Age to Age, till Time ſhall be no more!

Let full Aſſent reſound from all the Throng;

And with your Alleluias end the Song.

Psalm CXIV.


When Iſrael fled from Ægypt’s Shore,

Freed from a ſtern Barbarian’s Pow’r,

He whoſe Protection Iſrael grac’d,

In Juda his Pavilion plac’d.


An unknown Froſt ſurpriz’d the Flood;

On Heaps the parted Waters ſtood:

And Jordan, ſtruck with equal Dread,

Shrunk backward to his antient Head.


The ſolid Mountains ſkipp’d like Rams;

The riſing Hills like friſking Lambs:

What unknown Froſt ſurpriz’d the Flood?

Say, why on Heaps the Waters ſtood?

Why K6r 227


Why did’ſt thou, Jordan! ſtruck with Dread,

Shrink backward to thy antient Head?

Say, why the Mountains ſkipp’d like Rams?

The riſing Hills like friſking Lambs?


Tremble, thou Earth! with rev’rend Fear

Tremble when Jacob’s God is near:

At whoſe Command the Rocks diſtil,

The Flint pours forth a weeping Rill.

OdeonPsalm CXXX.


From the profound Abyſs below

Beneath the vaulted Baſe of Earth,

Beneath where Vegetables take their Birth,

Beneath where Gems and rip’ning Metals glow:

Beneath thoſe Caverns which abide

Th’ inceſſant Preſſure of the rolling Tide,

Beneath the Magazines which keep

Th’ exhauſtleſs Treaſures of the watry Deep;

I raiſe my humble Voice, and try,

Tho’ I ſo low and he ſo high,

To reach the ſtarry Manſions of the Deity,

K6 II. My K6v 228


My humble Voice with mild Attention hear!

I ſee, I ſee the dreadful Day,

What mortal Eye the View can bear?

When Juſtice, rob’d in terrible Array,

Shall all the World to thy Tribunal call:

When Men ſhall ſeek their guilty Heads to hide

Cruſh’d by the Mountain’s mould’ring Side;

Or bury’d in the Ruins of the univerſal Ball.

Till Mercy from the Sky deſcends;

Divineſt Attribute of Power!

In Air the flaming Sword ſuſpends;

And bids it rage no more, no more devour.

Divineſt Attribute! which does maintain

The ſacred Awe of thy eternal Reign.


My Soul ſecure attends the Lord;

Repos’d on his irrevocable Word:

With early Hymns ſhe wakes the riſing Day;

With earlier Vigilance than they

Who from the Turret watch the dawning Light,

Emerging from the Shades of Night.

Ye Sons of Iſrael! ye who trace

Your hallow’d Lineage from the Patriarch’s Race!

With ſtedfaſt Hope your gracious Lord adore:

For know, that in the exhauſted Store

Of certain Fate, your great Redeemer lies.

When future Time and certain Fate

The deſtin’d Period ſhall complete,

Himſelf the Lord, ſhall this Redeemer riſe.

No K7r 229

No Triumphs equal to the Deed,

Tho’ from Ægyptian Bondage freed,

Can be compar’d to what remain;

When he of Guilt ſhall break the Chain,

And give us Liberty again.

Psalm CXXXI.

Lord! no ambitious Mind I bear,

Betray’d in haughty Airs:

Nor I, above my proper Sphere

Converſe in great Affairs.

But mildly I myſelf demean’d;

And angry Thoughts ſuppreſs’d:

As when an Infant newly wean’d,

Forgets his Mother’s Breaſt.

Ev’n like that weanling Babe my Mind

Is ſoon compos’d to Peace:

To God be Iſrael’s Hope reſign’d,

From now till Time ſhall ceaſe.



What Joy when Brethren dwell combin’d

In Pious Unity of Mind!

’Tis like the ſacred Unction ſhed

On Aaron’s venerable Head:

I When K7v 230

When bath’d in Fragrancy reſpire

His rev’rend Beard and rich Attire.


Like Dews which trickling from the Sky

In pearly Globes on Hermon lye;

Or balmy Vapours, which diſtil

On Sion’s conſecrated Hill.

For there the Lord his Bleſſing plac’d;

And theſe with Life eternal grac’d.



Beside where fam’d Euphrates flows,

Thy dear Remembrance urg’d our Woes;

Thee Solyma! our Fears deplore,

The Great! the Glorious! now no more:

Our ſilent Harp, untun’d, unſtrung,

Upon the hoary Willows hung.


Our haughty Lords, inſulting, throng,

In barb’rous Mirth demand a Song;

Such tuneful Airs, melodious Strains,

As ill agree with ſervile Chains;

Such Songs as us’d of old to ſound,

O’er Sion’s Courts and hallow’d Ground.

III. And K8r 231


And can we then, celeſtial King!

Thy Hymns in hateful Exile ſing!

Thee, Sion! if my Thoughts forego,

Thy Glories paſt, thy preſent Woe,

May then, with Palſies numb’d and chill,

My better Hand forget her Skill.


O Solyma! if ever part

Thy honour’d Image from my Heart,

Fix’d to my Palate may my Tongue

For ever motionleſs be hung:

If any Joy my Boſom know

Superior to ſo juſt a Woe.


O may celeſtial Ire apace

Involve Idume’s cruel Race!

Think, Lord! what they preſum’d to ſay,

When Sion ſaw her lateſt Day:

They bad her levell’d Pride confound;

And raze her Turret to the Ground.


Daugher of Babel doom’d to know

The pining Waſte of meager Woe!

O! happy he who ſhall repay

The Vengeance of that ſignal Day:

And happy he by whom are thrown

Thy Infants on the rugged Stone.

Ode K8v 232

Ode on Part of the ſame.


As on Euphrates’ Bank we ſate

Adown our Cheeks ſuch Torrents glide

To mourn our melancholy Fate,

As emulate the ſwelling Tide.

O Sion! all on thee revolv’d our Thought;

Sad, lov’d Idea! to Remembrance brought,

Eternal Anguiſh to inſpire:

While we, upon the Willow, fed

With plenteous Moiſture by the River’s Bed,

Suſpend the ſilent Lyre.


The cruel Authors of our ſervile Bands

Inſult us with ſevere Commands:

That mean Delight of arbitrary Pride,

The Miſerable to deride;

They bad us tune our mournful Voice

Difus’d to ſing, or to rejoice:

Begin, th’ imperious Victors cry’d,

Begin the lofty Strain, which er’ſt you ſung

When ecchoing Sion with the Muſic rung.


Lord! ſhall we ſing thy Hymns, to be profan’d

By ſuch an Audience in a barb’rous Land?

And K9r 233

And thou, Jeruſalem! if it can be

That to Oblivion I abandon thee,

May this right Hand, forſaken of it’s Skill.

And all it’s paralytic Nerves unſtrung,

Forget to Act the Dictates of my Will

If ever my ingrateful Breaſt

Shall with thy Image ceaſe to be poſſeſſ’d,

Fix’d to my Palate cleave my ſtupid Tongue

If any Joy my penſive Boſom chear;

Nor I Jeruſalem to all prefer.


From vocal Air and convex Skies,

Let waſted Alleluias ſound:

And let the ſacred Triumphs riſe,

Till vaulted Heav’n the Notes rebound.

Ye Angels! you harmonious Throng,

Who round the Throne eternal wait:

Alternate anſwer to the Song,

Ye rapid Miniſters of Fate!

Thou ſolar Orb! whoſe ruddy Beam

Compells the Shades of Night to yield:

Thou ſilver Moon! whoſe fainter Gleam

Scarce trembles o’er yon azure Field.

Ye Stars! who circle round the Pole,

Illumin’d with diſtinguiſh’d Rays;

Inſtruct your vocal Spheres to roll

Symphonious, to your Maker’s Praiſe.

Praiſe K9v 234

Praiſe him, above th’ æthereal Heighth

Thou Empyrean! far more high:

Praiſe him, ye Cataracts! the Weight

Of Waters treaſur’d o’er the Sky.

His Name with pious Praiſes ſink,

Who kindled firſt the beamy Light:

Who firſt commanded you to ſpring

Forth from the Cells of genuine Night.

His Edict, with eternal Force

Aloft ſuſpends the ſtarry Rays:

He points, along the liquid Courſe,

Their Motions, Intervals, and Ways,

Thee, lower Earth! the Hymn requires,

To anſwer to the jocund Sound:

Ye Dragons with enamell’d Spires!

Ye Caverns of the vaſt Profound!

Ye lambent Flames! ye Hail and Snow!

In humid Trails ye Vapours curl’d!

Ye Tempeſts! which obedient blow

To pour his Vengeance on the World.

Ye Mountain Steeps! ye humbler Hills!

Ye Trees! which with delicious Food

And gen’rous Juice, the Seaſon fills:

Ye Cedars, Giants of the Wood.

Ye ſavage Beaſts! who lone abide

In Foreſts: Ye of milder kind!

Ye Reptiles, who extended glide!

Ye plumy Tribes who mount the Wind.

Ye Monarchs! whoſe imperial Sway,

The ſubjugated Nations awes:

Ye Nations who thoſe Kings obey!

Ye Chiefs and Guardians of the Laws.

Ye K10r 235

Ye active Youth, in manly Prime!

Ye Virgins deck’d with blooming Grace!

Ye Elders preſs’d by creeping Time!

And you the tender infant Race!

Your Voices raiſe with mix’d Acclaim;

To praiſe the univerſal Lord:

The ſole, auguſt, majeſtic Name,

O’er Earth and diſtant Heav’n ador’d.

When he ſhall elevate their Horn,

Shall all his Saints his Praiſes ſing:

The Progeny of Iſrael born,

Who ſtill attend their heav’nly King.

Psalm CL.


With Alleluias from the Shrine

Salute th’ Omnipotence Divine:

And eccho praiſes from the Sky;

Where he reſides in Majeſty.


Praiſe him in all his glorious Deeds;

Where his Almighty Pow’r exceeds.

The Trumpet’s martial Voice inſpire;

And touch the Lute; and ſtrike the Lyre.


Let Youth and Beauty form the Dance;

And to the Trimbrell’s Sound advance:

Ye K10v 236

Ye Maſters of the trembling Wire,

And ſolemn Organs lead the Choir.


On tuneful Cymbals raiſe the Sound;

Or from the concave Braſs rebound:

And praiſe him, for to him belongs

The Breath which modulates your Songs.

Hymn, Taken from Psalm VIII.

OLord, Thou Sov’reign Lord of all,

How glorious is thy Name:

How glorious o’er this earthly Ball,

And yon celeſtial Frame!

By Infants who begin to try

Their yet unpractis’d Tongue,

To ſilence bold Impiety.

Thy Praiſes ſhall be ſung.

Nor to the ſtarry Skies alone

Thy Preſence is confin’d:

But thou on Earth haſt made it known

In Bounty to Mankind.

The lab’ring Steer and bleating Sheep

And Fowl his Rule obey;

And all that in the ſpacious Deep

Purſue their watry Way.

Chorus. K11r 237


O Lord, thou ſov’reign Lord of all,

How glorious is thy Name;

How glorious o’er this earthly Ball,

And yon celeſtial Frame.


Hymnfrom Psalm CXIX. Ver. 54.

Thy Statutes have been my Songs in the Houſe of my Pilgrimage.

While on the melancholy Way,

That Journey of a Winter’s Day,

Of human Life, I paſs along,

Wherever, as my wand’ring Gueſt,

I bend my weary Head to Reſt,

Thy Laws, O Lord! have been my Song.

Tho’ all the horrid Shapes of Fear,

Of Danger and of Death are near,

Yet I perceive thee at my Side:

Tho’ Shades of genuine Night profound

Enwrap my wretched Head around,

Thy Hand alone ſhall be my Guide,

Tho’ here the Snares of faithleſs Foes,

There Torrents of involving Woes,

And K11v 238

And there extend the Jaws of Hell:

Tho’ Tempeſts gather in the Sky,

And wing’d with Fate tho’ Arrows fly,

Thy Preſence ſhall my Tears expel.

Tho’ from the the dreadful Storm to fly,

No Cave, nor Hermitage is nigh;

Where I in Safety may retire:

Yet, while I wander thro’ the Gloom

Of all my Pilgrimage to come,

Thy Statutes ſhall my Voice inſpire

My weary Steps forever tend

Incertain, to a certain End;

The Space is Short, the Toil is long:

And, tho’ my Voice is faint and weak,

Yet ſhall my Soul in Silence ſpeak

Of thee; the Subject of my Song.

1752-09-20September 20th, 1753.

Eternal Rocks Edina’s Walls ſurround,

Aloft with Palaces and Caſtles crown’d:

Here Nature has the rich Material giv’n;

But Arts of Maſonry derive from Heav’n.

While Drummond does the deep Foundations caſt,

Sound ev’ry Trumpet ev’ry tuneful Blaſt,

Call ev’ry Star to bleſs the riſing Pyle;

And ſummon Commerce to the Periſtyle.

Tho’ Nimrod’s impious Tow’r may check the Boaſt

Of Vanity deceiv’d, and Labour loſt,

The true grand Maſter was the Theban King,

Who built a City by the lyric String.

The End.